Of Robins and Strange Birds
by bluethursday
Summary: Summary: A collection of short stories centering around the relationship between Timothy Drake, and Damian Wayne.
1. Of Flower Shops

**Of Flower Shops**

Summary: Zatanna magics a list of the most dangerous people on earth. The only two she doesn't know are the two at the very top. Timothy and Damian Drake. Bruce goes looking for them. What he finds, is a flower shop.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

All the names made sense but the first two. Zatanna had generated the list for fun, a sort of mass power indicator for the most dangerous people on Earth. Everyone on the list was someone she knew as villain or a hero, or even a president or military leader. The first two were unknown. The first two were Timothy and Damian Drake. They shared the top spot as well as the same last name.

….

Bruce Wayne entered a flower shop tucked away in southern France. A small place with a fairly large customer base. It was the first shop that had been recommend to him by a small french woman.

She had told him that what translated into Beast and Blue Flowers was the best place to go, and that if he went he should give her congratulations to Blue about their anniversary. Apparently the store was run by a married couple who was absolutely delightful and had just celebrated some countless anniversary. When he asked how long they had been together, the old woman smiled and patted his arm, "Forever my dear, forever."

The flowers within the store were in fact, beautiful. Species that Bruce had never seen before flourished in the small but spacious area. All of them looked freshly cut, the scent of honey filling the air from some nameless source. What drew his eyes though, was not the plants as lovely as they were, but the couple waltzing a soft little waltz in between the foliage.

Both wore green work aprons but at that point the similarity stopped. One of them, was tall enough to match Clark and equally as wide. A massive barrel chest and large hands spoke of muscle and training. The scars crossing the skin Bruce could see spoke of experience. One in particular rested below his right eye, accenting high cheekbones and dark blue eyes. Thick black hair and slightly olive skin gave him a foreign appearance, past that Bruce could not place his country of origin. This was clearly Bete, Beast and the slighter man in his arms could be no one but Blue.

Slender and easily enveloped in larger arms, a spark of mischief ran rampant in shining blue eyes. Pale as the oleander that rested in one of the many containers he was smooth skinned and as the old lady described him, angelic.

Clearing his throat, Bruce stilled the impromptu waltz. Beast looked uninterested at his presence much like a cat would sniff disdainfully in the face of something it disliked. Blue smiled at him softly, perfect english falling from perfect lips. "May I help you?"

Bruce took off his sunglasses and placed them into his suit pocket. "Yes actually, I would like to purchase some flowers."

The smaller man did nothing to disentangle himself from the larger, he simply maneuvered them so that he could face Bruce, his husbands arms slipping around him easily.

"Do you know which type, or would you like a recommendation?"

Brucie Wayne came to the forefront in the way Bruce oozed sensuality quirking his lips. "A recommendation would be lovely. I have a date with a nice young lady. I thought flowers would be appropriate? Maybe roses?"

Shaking his head Tim frowned. Damian remained uncaring of Bruce's presence. They had been together long enough for him not to feel threatened by the presence of one little man.

"Roses, everyone wants roses as though no other flowers exist. I've always been partial to Dahlia's, the red one's in particular." Tim gestured to the large red blooms upon green stems. Bruce smiled.

"I'll take a dozen."

Again Tim shook his head. "You will take three. They would be ugly as a set of twelve." The words are not a suggestion. Nodding Bruce pretends to do various things on his phone as Tim wraps up the flowers, Damian following him like a guard dog.

While paying for the bouquet, Bruce, in the most flippant, spoiled manner he can, asks, "I simply must return here. May I know the name of the owner or a number I can use to contact the shop?"

Tapping his fingers on the countertop Tim sighs, "No, I'm afraid that the store does not have a phone. You'll have to come here or not at all."

A strange way to operate a store. No phone meant that everyone who placed an order would have to come directly to the store.

"As for the owners." Tim continued peacefully, "Me and my husband, Damian run the store. My name would be Timothy."

Bruce picked the flowers up, "My name is Bruce. It was nice to meet you Timothy." Leaving the store he can just hear the small "Tt." that comes from Damian's mouth. It's the first time he's heard the larger man speak.

..

Kissing the slighter man with a brutal forcefulness Damian smirks, "It seems the Justice League has decided to come meet us."

Tim nuzzled into Damian's chest, allowing him full access to his neck. "You knew about the list. You just thought it would be funny."

Palming Tim's rear with one hand Damian takes his time to leave a dark bruise on the crux of his neck. Tim has always bruised in shades of blue and green. Damian is hoping for blue.

Growling the larger man speaks, "You found it just as fun as I my prince."

Tim laughs and remembers a time when he allowed his wings to show freely, a time where he wore his halo and fought for a cause he never understood. He remembers seeing Damian for the first time, all darkness and hellfire. "I was never your prince." He breathes against Damian's mouth, taunting.

The demon king pulls his angel counterpart impossibly tighter against him, lips and tongue slipping into the sweet cavern that had forever tasted like everything good in this world. He remembers how they drifted down and up respectively, not falling for their abilities were still their own but drifting into down to mortal soil.

"And when the war comes?" Damian asks, because he knows that one day the armies above and below will bring about a new world to rise from the ashes of the carnage they would leave. A periodical rebirth.

Their eyes meet and Damian can see Tim's grace, liquid silver beneath blue. "If ours is not a love story, then let it be a war." The words are spoken like a promise falling from the lips of an angel.

Damian closes his eyes and breathes the air he most certainly does not need to sustain himself. Yes. If theirs was not a love story, he dreams of tearing apart pure white wings as silver blue eyes plunge a sword through his chest, the let it be a war.

Trailing kisses down a bruised neck Damian smiles. For now, they had their love story.


	2. Snow King

Summary: Tim is the snow king, Damian is the boy he kidnaps, although I'm fairly sure it isn't kidnapping if the person in question comes willingly. Dasherfay wanted a prompt based on the word ice.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Snow King**

Damian learns to see the world the way his grandfather teaches him to see it. A world where the weak are weak unless they are useful in some way and the strong rule.

He learns of the ugly mean things and none of the kind sweet ones.

He learns that his place is to kill and that those who die are at fault for being unable to defend themselves.

The strong are the only ones fit to survive.

The great troll on his gilded throne watches the progeny of his progeny. He has raised Damian as though he had taken a shard of glass and embedded it deep within one eye from a mirror of warped in nature.

He has raised him to see the world and all its cruelty.

He has raised him to be strong.

In the end Damian leaves the great troll king, eyes bleeding as he tries to remove the shard that had sunken so deep within him. The glass that distorted his world into one where nothing could ever be good, and to be good was akin to being impotent useless, and dead.

In the end Damian becomes Robin, boy of wonder.

The shard however, remained, and all kindness bestowed was met with hostile aggression.

…

The Snow King smiled, frost spreading fast over the windows of Wayne Manor. The boy, the cold, wretched little boy looked right at him, staring intently as Timothy disappeared into the snowfall.

This was how they continued for days, upon days.

Damian wondered if the man made of winter would stay for a while.

Tim wondered if the boy knew that deep inside him, something was wrong and that glass was too much like ice for the elder to mistake it for anything else.

One day, the younger boy walked up the window, palms splayed on the cold glass. He wondered if the winter man was as cold to the touch as the glass. He was utterly fascinated and fascinating in turn.

The small shard inside him unable to warp what was too cold, too much like itself.

Tim remained beautiful and good in the eyes of one who had never known such things existed.

…

One little boy stood barefoot in the snow. One little boy held a hand so frozen that the ice burned his flesh.

One little boy took two kisses from the Snow King.

The first to numb him to the cold. To make it so that his feet no longer felt like lead and the ground beneath him covered in thick white powder no more frigid than summer grass.

The second was to silence the shard that had, for so long, been a part of him. It was easy work to find the glass and coat it with the never melting ice that followed Tim like an obedient pet.

His eyes wide for the first time, Damain looked at the city in front of him. For the first time, he could see the beauty in every brick, every building. In the roads that led people to the places they needed to go, in the stoplights and street lamps, the beggars and the rich. The weak and the strong.

For the first time, Damian did not let go of the hand that held his, and together they walked into the snowfall.

Damian had privately wished for a third kiss, but a third, as good as it would feel would kill him where he stood. A gentle death but an end none the less.

…

Watching the snow outside, Dick turned to Bruce.

"Where's Damian?" He asked.

Bruce watched the blizzard raging outside and called for Alfred, it would be just like his son to decide that thermal conditioning was what he needed."

….

Deep in palace of winter, Damian sat with his head on the King's lap murmuring, "I thought I dreamt of you, the first time I saw you and I'm so happy I didn't. I think I would have been very lonely without you."

The image of a man with a head shaved clean, wearing the infamous cowl alone in a large house filled Tim's mind. He saw a cat named Alfred as the only companion to a very sad, broken creature and he took care not to make a single sound.

"I'm sure you would have been fine on your own." Tim lies, because what good is ice for if not for masking and freezing over. He will not share this truth with Damian.

Dark blue eyes gazed up at him, "I'm glad you're real. Some days I think that I'll wake up and everything will have been a dream."

Tim smiled, soft and sad, "No little boy, this is no dream."

He wonders if Damian knows what he has given up, by coming to this place with Tim, by willingly becoming part of this kingdom.

Tim wonders if he's done the right thing taking a child from their home, much like his predecessors and darker cousins. He has never stolen children from their beds but this one has come to him and as such it is different. Tim hopes that it is different.

Damian is content.


	3. Enough

Summary: Damian realizes that he sees Tim as a parent. This happens through attempted murder and conversation.

Disclamier: I own nothing

Enough:

It is enough. Finally and completely Tim had had enough and he will not stand for this stupidity any longer.

Damian would not end his grudge, would not lay down his weapons as he grew because Tim would always be a reminder of a heritage that had not been given to him by his father, among other reasons. Robin was given to Damian by his father's first son.

Tim was Bruce's choice and Damian was Dicks.

How many attempts at his life was he expected to ignore and circumvent in the home that was intended to be his own. How many times could he look at Dick's grinning face telling him to be more understanding because Damian was a child and he didn't mean the things he did, even if he did try to kill Tim in his sleep with a knife, because he was raised by Ra's Al Ghul, the poor baby.

Tim was never raised to suffer fools lightly and Dick, as much as Tim admired him was a fool.

One too many drops of poison in his food, one to many knives to head, and break lines cut and bombs planted in had led to this.

One silly little boy would come after him, because the house was empty and Alfred was upstairs and the cameras had been tampered with. All sure signs of what would come next. One little boy would come downstairs and for the first time Tim would fight back.

Children were only children unless they weren't and right now Tim was ready to stop giving Damian the leeway of childhood and treat him as the adult he so desired to be.

The attack is swift, sudden and from the dark but Tim is ready, disarming the youngest Robin, taking Damian's weapon as his own, pressing it to the younger boys throat. There are few things one can do when a sword is held to their pulse and the swordsman is experienced.

Damian knows Tim is experienced. He also knows the elder Robin won't kill him. It is against bat creed. He will suffer these scare tactics with pride.

"Unhand me Drake." He demands.

Tim's mouth curves and he allows his grip on the blade to tighten, a minute movement that draws the slightest line of blood. "No. All your work, all your effort and you couldn't kill me. Either you're a failure to both the house of Al Ghul and Wayne or you're not trying. Which is it Damian?"

Damian bristles at the words because he has been trying, as much as he possibly could without bringing his efforts to the attention of the rest of the family. He does not respond.

"Right now Damian. I could kill you. Forge a note saying that you returned to your grandfather, fix whatever mistakes you left when you rigged the cameras and dispose of your body."

Damian can not believe this…lie. It has to be a lie because Drake would not be so ruthless, would not be so callous. Or at least…Damian thought he wouldn't but his voice is bland and unemotional and the youngest Robin can not pick up any hint, any trace that this is a game. That Tim won't kill him where he stands.

"You scream and scream for someone to look at you, to pay attention to you and right now, I'm looking right at you and I see I scared, stupid, little boy who has no idea what he's doing."

Damian would snarl but for the risk of decapitation, "I am attempting to eliminate the threat. You are my father's heir." This is a repetition Tim has heard far too many times. You are a blight on the Wayne family. You do not belong. You are usurping what should be mine.

"Silly boy. Stupid, silly boy. If you want me gone so badly, if you need me gone as much as you think you do."

Tim removes the sword. He does not struggle as his predecessor takes his hand and returns his weapon to him. He does not struggle as Tim maneuvers the sword against his own neck.

"If you want this so badly," Tim continues, "Then kill me."

His eyes are cold and Damian does not know what this is, what trick this must be, because Drake knows that Damian has been trying to do this for a very long time. He can not be stupid enough to give Damian the opportunity the younger boy has been looking for when he knows Damian will take it.

Tim just looks at him as he raises the sword. His heart is beating far to fast, his arms are tense and his body is sweating. He will do this. He must do this to secure his place in his fathers domain even though the kill has been given to him willingly. Even though Tim is looking at him will a strange sadness underneath all the calm, and acceptance.

Damian drops the sword, the metal clattering on the floor as it rolls away.

Tim remains calm when he speaks, "You couldn't do it, could you."

Damian throat is tight. He wants to run, "How, how could you possibly know. There is no method through which you could have been sure that I wouldn't end you."

Tim rubs a hand on his neck, where the sword left a mark, "You wouldn't have done it, not really." All those times the younger boy tried he never expected to succeed. Somehow he always knew that Tim would show up, irritated but whole. He never expected to win.

Damian can not believe this foolishness, "I was not aware that I would not go for the final stroke. How could you have known?"

Tim sits down. Damian will not. He stands back straight, arms clenched at his sides.

"When Bruce got lost, Dick took care of you. He was your parent, the one you grew to like because he payed attention to you and gave you the affection you never had. "

Damian growls impatiently, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Tim sighs, "I took care of Gotham, of Wayne Corp and whether you like it or not I kept you safe. You know very well that I did. In that way, I was your other parent. You hated me because I wasn't paying attention to you, because I didn't acknowledge your presence with the same open affection as Dick. "

"That is a lie. I was trying to eliminate the threat to my position."

Tim snorts, peeling one glove from his hand, "What proof did you have that Bruce wouldn't keep you as an heir, given his history of adopting orphans? The first times you tried to hurt me, before Bruce left, you did so with that reason, you learned better. If you had killed me you would have been shunned from the family. You know this, so why did you persist on trying to end my life?"

Damian can not answer because, Tim had always been so perfect, always done his job with a methodical brilliance and rarely looked at Damian. Waving him off as another addition to the household. Children must be seen not heard.

"You are not my father." He denies.

"I'm not. That does not change the fact that you see me as yours. Some part of you associates what I did, the way I looked after Gotham with something Bruce would have done, except you can't lash out at Bruce, couldn't at the time and Dick was too soft, so you hit the hardest target you could find. Me."

Damian closes his eyes, because this is not true.

"You saw me as a substitute when your birth father was gone, the father you had searched for for so long. You latched on to me and Dick to fill those roles for you and you attacked me because I was not treating you the way you felt you should be treated. The way you hoped your father would treat you, the way you still hope he would treat you, and you can't go after Bruce."

This, this is not true, it can not be true, but Damian knows. He knows that it is.

"What do I do now." His voice is raspy with the tears he is trying to stop.

Tim stands, pulling the youngest Robin into a tight hug, warms and all encompassing.

"You move on. You learn."


	4. Long Live The Queen

**Long Live The Queen**

Summary: Tim is the ruler of the fae, Damian is his knight. I blame hearts for this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"Tell me again." Tim arches against the larger form. His dark knight, his Damian. "Tell me." He breathes feeling every touch that passes through his form like burning fire.

"I will serve you forever." Damian murmurers, lips devouring as he trails kisses down a pale throat. "My Queen." His teeth nip at the flesh below them. His hands lift the smaller man ever so slightly, growling as Tim twines a single leg over his hips.

The bodies of their enemies litter the hallway.

….

Once upon a time, there was a queen. A ruler who scratched and clawed and tore their way to a throne that had never existed before.

A queen, who in the place that birthed monsters and angels alike reigned supreme. The people, the fay ones of faerie knew his name like they knew their own for it was tucked into each of them, hidden in the very roots of their trees and water and soil. They could not tell, if asked, what that name was but a long long time ago the queen had taken the hearts of his army to keep them loyal.

A long long time ago the queen had been dethroned and he had bleed and bleed and bleed until the unearthly earth soaked up his essence, until every thing that ever existed carried his flesh with them.

And then.

He called it back.

The parts of himself he tucked away, the parts that had dug in like a disease, into the very core of the world. Until the nexus where everything met, where land became ocean and reality, magic, was not an ever shifting place but instead the heart of the queen. The human personification of the People and The Land.

And when he called those parts of him back. Entire _worlds_ shook.

From the wreckage came the monarch, renewed once more, his army rising in the streets to beckon him home. His army screaming from the hearts they no longer had, kept under the thumb of their queen who was so very broken and so very cruel.

From the civil war that had once unseated him, he allowed the Summer Court their place, allowed them to keep the lands they had taken for themselves. Oberon and Titania were left alone with knowledge that at any moment their lives could be taken from them at the whim of the first.

Taking his court and raising it from the ashes, his People ran wild. The dark ones, the unseelie were his, had always been his and his second coming was a rejoice to those who ran in the dark.

They had no name to call him, no tittle to bestow but Majesty.

In place of the name that was hidden in the very lifeblood of the Land, he allowed them to know him as Tim.

…

The knight to his queen was found in some forgotten place.

The court would whisper that the knight was a darking, a creature from the abyss with no heart and veins filled with noxious ooze.

Tim would croon softly at his _generalkinglover_ knight, and remember the day he bought him home whenever the whispers grew too loud. Tall and strong, raging in the deep he brought his knight home from the endless gaping dark of the Never Never.

As a child he had learned not to go too close to the nothing lands.

He had never been good at listening to the litany of _Nothing comes from there, nothing is born from there. The place only exists to take, to destroy whatever the Land makes. It is the antithesis, the great eater._

This is what they had whispered in the dark dark night, the children of The Land. Whispered still.

_Never two steps sideways, never close enough to see the black, because if you cans see the abyss, it can see you and if it can see you it can touch you and once you're touched…. you can never go back._

This is where Tim finds his knight. The first creation from a thing that did nothing but take. The first entity the black gave and Tim stroked its face and pressed kisses to its cheeks., holding it close and bringing it home.

On that dark night when he saw the body floating suspended in the Never Never Tim could do nothing but pull him out. On that dark night he named his champion.

He named him Damian.

Demon.

For nothing that came from the dark could be light.

….

His duty, was to protect his queen.

To keep him safe, and wipe his brow when the world became too much for a single being to bear.

His duty is to keep the secrets that spill from a mouth that trembled in the daylight, curled away where no one could see.

It was to him that his queen confessed. It was he who forgave. It was he who knew the reason for the first throne. The reason behind power and greed and an endless chorus of _moremoremoremore_.

"The world was ending, this world. It was being pulled apart and torn at the edges. There is too much power in this land. We are all born of magic and power, of light and dark and endless potential, because of this when we push, when there is no clear absolute we tear each other to pieces.

The summer would have waged war with winter and in doing so broke the lines holding their realities together. When the winter would retaliate, if there was anything left they would set themselves on fire. Like small children with matchsticks burning paper only to realize that what they though was paper was truly their own self. In the end they would realize but by them it would be too late.

Taking the throne was taking the matches. "

_These are the secrets._

"When I died, Damian, when I was taken from the throne they got ahold of the matches and they nearly doomed us all.

The ensuing casualties would have been felt one hundred worlds over. That much magic with no where left to go, after we are gone would spread and warp all life in so many different and senseless ways. That much power with no centre would implode, bringing about such reckless change as had never been seen before.

When I got back, it was too late. I had nothing to bind it all, nowhere to place the fire but inside my self, in doing so I placed my being the in centre of all that would ruin it. "

_These are the secrets._

"Sometimes I can't remember if what I feel is what I feel Damian, because I am being pulled apart in a thousand different directions. To an extent I am not in control of myself. My pain is that of The Lands and the pain of The Land is mine. "

_These are the secrets Damian keeps._

…

"What do you mean, magical backlash?" Bruce growls as Zatanna struggles to explain. The Fae have never been easy to understand or articulate. It is much like trying to herd cats or trap lighting in a bottle.

Zatanna takes a deep breath, "One hundred or so worlds away, dimensions away, really, it gets complicated, because the Fea are always moving, their world doesn't stay in one place. Right now they're world is one away from ours, and their ruler, Tim, has gone to sleep."

Bruce stares imposingly at the shorter woman, waiting for her to finish her explanation. The other day it had rained cabbages in Singapore. There were three casualties. Heads cracked and spilling on the pavement from the impact. Others had been hospitalized for severe bruising. The laughing had come before the screaming as people ran for cover.

"Tim is the thing, the person that holds the Fae World, together. He holds all the loose bits of magic inside himself so that everything doesn't implode. When he sleeps, his hold on the strings isn't as tight. Some of them slip."

Two days before the cabbages, the Atlantic Ocean had boiled, for two minutes and three seconds. Aquaman had raged. Sailors had dropped to their knees.

"Can anything be done?" Bruce asks, because magic has not been kind to him. Far too unpredictable to control the Bat has never been accustomed to the practice.

Zatanna shakes her head, taking off her top hat in dismay, "We have to wait it out. If he's sleeping it means he needs the rest. If we wake him and the Fae are this close to us, it won't look good for Earth and that's a big if. We wouldn't be able to get close to him."

Bruce's frown deepens. An all powerful magical being who could ruin the world by going to sleep who was apparently impossible to touch did not seem conducive to the safety of Earth.

Zatanna continued, "The Dark Knight, you two share that name, he's the Queen's protector, his name, not his real one because those have serious power, the name he's called is Damian, he would kill everyone who came near his liege."

She wonders how she could begin to explain the depth of the bond between the first ruler of Fae an his knight. She wonders if she could do so without rambling in tangents that only made sense some of the time, because how can one explain what is ever shifting and constant all at once? She wonders if she, herself could understand well enough to explain.


	5. Soulbonding

Summary: Damian and Tim, soul bonding.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

**Soulbonding:**

Sitting outside of Tim's bedroom door Damian begged, "Please, Drake, Tim. Please you must let me inside. I am sorry that you must suffer the presence of my mind being connected to yours, but you must let me in."

It comes in a wave, the worst memories. Tim a small child of three left alone in a large house cooking breakfast. He is standing on a chair to do so but if he does not do this he will go hungry and there is no one there to do it for him. His parents were scheduled to return two months ago but he knew they would not be back. Placing the scrambled eggs on a plate, little hands struggle not to get burned. The frying pan is heavy. It is half the size of Tim.

Damian winces. And prepares himself for a long night. He knows that Tim is getting his thoughts but that does not change the fact that he now knows that Tim does not believe himself to be good enough for anything, at all. That he believed that he was not wanted, not really, and that no one could ever love him but that was acceptable because if his parents could not love him how could anyone else

A five year old took pictures of Batman and Robin, Bruce and Dick, Alfred. He climbed up chimneys and fire escapes, scraping him small fragile knees and Damian wanted to shout at him to get down from such high places because Tim at five was so very small, the size of young toddler, and soft skinned. He looked as though on puff of wind would throw him off the rooftop into the alley below breaking his eggshell bones.

He wondered if Tim still had such delicate skin and the next memory comes unbidden. Tim at thirteen masking his bruises with concealer. The hit was not a hard one, more of a light impact that hurt but not so much as to leave a mark. Tim's cheekbone was a mottled purple shade. He looked as though someone had attacked him with a metal pipe. All over his torso dark bruising formed strange patterns. Damian knows the wounds don't hurt, that they look far worse than they are, but still..he understands why Tim does not allow anyone to wrap his wounds, not when his body is peach skin frail, every contact leaving a mark.

He wonders if Dick knows that sometimes his tackle hugs leave light yellow marks on Tim's back. It is the reason he wears such concealing clothes.

Damian does not like this, he does not like knowing that Tim does not blame him for trying to kill him, for almost succeeding to do so. He learns what its like to hear someone who had always told you they loved you tell you that you were out of your mind and that you weren't good enough to do a job you did better than any Robin before you.

He learns what its like to lose a mother who never cared and then a father who suddenly changed his mind about whether or not to acknowledge their child's existence. His listens to Jack Drake lecture Tim on how dangerous being a vigilante is and how he can longer be Robin or see his friends and family and he wants to punch him the face.

This is the man who saw his child a total of two weeks in the first twelve years alone.

He learns what its like to find and deal with a Bruce so paranoid that any mistake made is dealt with harsh reprimands and strict training. He learns what it's like to deal with a Batman who does not say a word as Robin leaves, not of his own volition but from what is essentially blackmail.

He can think of a dozen scenarios that would have kept Tim in a domino mask.

He will not pick the lock on the door. He will not invade the privacy Tim held so dear, because it was the only thing he had at times. He is not that cruel.

"Please." he begs. Damian has scared off the rest of the family, screamed and cursed and fought like a man possessed for this little piece of privacy while the Martian Manhunter consulted with the Bat on what could be done.

They had assumed that Damian had been the one most upset, but Tim was the one who was breaking.

The door opens slightly, just enough for Damian to sneak in and reactivate the protective measures sealing the entrance. Tim looks at him with red rimmed eyes.

Damian knows what he's thinking he feel the self disgust, loathing and abject terror that fills Tim, because Damian should not know these things, he should not know that Tim panics when his bookshelf is not organized and that he scared that he is going to die alone with no one to hold his hand. That he does not eat enough because he forgets sometimes and that he does not sleep very much because when he does he wakes up stiff as a board lips bloody from the bite marks on the insides of his cheeks, made to stop himself from screaming.

He is tired, with dark circles under his eyes, that are always there, but today Tim did not conceal them.

He does not look as big as Damian had once seen him to be and right now he feels as though he spent all of his time stabbing helpless animals. He knows how capable his predecessor is, fears that he will never live up to the reputation of the perfect Robin, the Robin who was always right.

He knows that Tim is strong, but he also knows that Tim is so very small. Leading the slightly taller Robin to the bed Damian does not say a word, because he knows. Tim can feel everything Damian wants to say.

You have always been wanted in this household and you are cared for and loved and I wish I did not know why you believed these other things but I do. I do not know why you love me despite my behavior towards you but after this is over I will be better. I will treat you appropriately and I will love you back.

Holding Tim, Damian knows that he bring food soon. Tim is far too thin to be healthy.

He has not eaten for days. Damian knows this.


	6. Long Live The Queen: Dancing

Summary: A continuation of Long Live the Queen, in which Tim is the fae monarch and Damian is his knight.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors Note: This was done for ava who wanted more and an anon prompt based on the lyrics "But don't forget who's takin' you home, And in whose arms you're gonna be. So darlin' save the last dance for me."

**Dancing**

The knight watched his queen dance, the elegant lines of his body moving in perfect time with the unearthly beat of the music.

The war drums spread their harsh sounds, their skins aching with use. Every echo another step, another piece of the dance.

The corpse in Tim's arms didn't say a word as the queen forced it to fall in line.

Damian smiled, taking off his helmet. His majesty was beautiful, weaving through the damned, feet hovering an inch above the ground. The queen had so few moments of peace. This reprieve was greatly enjoyed.

Tim rarely danced with the living for he did not like their hands on his flesh but the dead would not move save for the ways he wished them to.

They were obedient.

The same could be said for his army, his people, but his army could hate him and his people the same. The dead could do nothing but dance, and all around the battlefield the roses grew, covering those who had fallen in a blanket of red.

Soon there would be no bodies, but a garden instead. Soon there would be nothing but what was more of less there before, only better. Filled with life and the heady smell of flowers in full bloom.

The body in Tim's arms could only agree. It's neck broken just below the place it was attached to the head. He would have been a handsome man Tim mussed, his dance partner.

He would have had such lovely green eyes and fiery red hair. If he was alive, Tim supposed he would be prone to blushing.

His thoughts were interrupted as a Damian placed a hand on the corpses shoulder.

"Excuse me, may I have the next dance?"

It was always so much fun when his knight played along.

Damian has always played along.

Tim knows that today has not been a good day. He knows that he has flown into a violent rage and massacred far too many people, but nothing can be done for the rage of the queen is the rage of the land.

He lowers the corpse before taking the hand his knight so kindly offered. Damians hands had always been larger than his, but covered in gauntlets they were larger still.

"You may, fair knight." Tim replies, starting the dance from the beginning even as the war drums stop and his army begins to fall in line from the vast corners of the battle ground.

The soldiers will wait for their Queen and General to finish. They will fall in line and they will wait.

There is no choice for them but to do so.

Tim pressed closer to his dark knight, the cold of Damian's chest plate soothing against the heat of his skin.

"Damian." Tim whispered, low enough to be private. Held between them like the secret thing it was.

"I want to stay here for a while."

He does. He wants to stay here and watch his roses devour the enemies and allies who were too slow, too weak to survive. He wants to watch them rot underneath the garden above. Watch them loose themselves to yet another senseless fight.

He wants to dance with his knight one more time, while he's happy, flush with the satisfaction of the People.

"Of course." Damian whispers back. He knows that if his Queen wished they would have stayed in this field for a decade, a century dancing the time away.

**Allies:**

Bruce scowled at their temporary allies.

Zatanna had spent an hour frantically debriefing everyone in preparation for the meeting.

"_You can not and I repeat can not make yourself interesting to the Queen. You just can't. Everyone the Queen finds interesting ends up dead or worse. You will not draw attention to yourselves in any way, you will not speak, you will not twitch and if you can, you will not breathe. Please, just, whatever you want to do…don't…or else I'm never going to see any of you again."_

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Barry trying not to vibrate in place, his eyes stuck on figure at the head of the table.

The Queen.

Nothing about him was human. He seemed older, darker, than anything Bruce knew, anything he had fought against before. The Bat railed against the lack of a contingency. If things went badly he would be able to do nothing.

"_The fair folk, whatever the stories say are not cute, nor helpful. They do not care about iron or rules, the Queen especially. His rules change whenever he wants them to."_

"_His?"_

"_Queen is a word, the gender is irrelevant. The actual title for the first and only ruler of the fae is lost to human tongue."_

The man standing beside him was massive, dressed in a finely tailored suit, he would not have been out of place in a suit of armor.

For a moment Bruce can see it, the shadow of the great helmet and sword, the man, the dark knight would have carried, but past that moment the image is gone, as is the sight of the queen reclining on a thrown.

The simple chair Tim lounges on remains.

Zatanna's voice is clear as she speaks. "Welcome majesty. We are honored to have you."

Tim looks and odd mixture of bored and mildly amused. "No, you're not, but do continue."

The sorceress closes her eyes, and gathers her thoughts. "Soon we will be invaded. Even your kingdom will suffer. Will you help us fight?"

Tim blinks. "My kingdom, as you call it, will not suffer at all. Your little threat has long since been disposed of."

Bruce scowls. J'onn had rushed towards them with news of foreign invaders coming from distant lands. Magic users.

He is aware of how incredibly stupid he is about to be, but that does not stop him. "When did you stop them…majesty.?"

The Queen looks at him, sees all that is and smiles. "You must be the bat man. So much like my own knight, except smaller, the shadow of a shadow of a shadow."

"The answer…please." This is as close to good manners that Bruce can do with those eyes trained on him, tearing his actions apart.

Tim sighs, and leans back in his chair. "They stepped on one of my flower beds."

Bruce nods. "Where are they now."

Tim inspects his long pointed white nails, claws sharp enough to cut through all. He is bored.

"In my garden where I left them."

These are not answers but implications, small hints to something that smells rotten. Bruce should back away, he knows he should. He knows that it is not a good idea to prod a sleeping dragon. He does it anyway.

"What happened to them?"

Zatanna is shooting panicked looks at Bruce, sending him the silent yet universal message to shut his mouth.

Tim stops examining his nails. The air in the room changes, fog rolling in like a carpet. Far away the wolves are howling.

Placing his hands on the table Tim takes a piece of mist and makes it into the shape of a flower.

"I've ripped the hearts out of soldiers for far less."

It is not a question. The mist flowers turns into a beating heart, white and translucent.

"I've broken men far stronger than you and brought cities to their knees. Your enemy is gone child, taken by The Land. You will respect that."

The heart breaks in Tim's hand.

"Today, you will be free to go, but one day Bruce Wayne, when you are old and dieing, I will come for you. I will rip out your heart, and I will make you a soldier in my army."

Bruce swallows, his scowl in its place.

"Be honored, for it will be a gift."

The last thing Batman sees as their guests disappear into the fog is the haunting sight of eyes so blue they could swallow the world whole.


	7. Along Came a Dragon

Disclaimer: I own….nothing.

**Au**: Tim is Damian's familiar, the batclan are all magical.

Damian snarled as Dicks familiar squawked like the overgrown turkey it was, instead of the black phoenix Grayson insisted it to be. Damian had yet to introduce his brothers to his other half. His better half.

His brothers who had a black phoenix and massive hell hound named Red, respectively. His father had a three headed Bat the size of a house. Even Pennyworth had an animal familiar, a red firebird named Jeeves and honestly Tim was better than all of them combined but that didn't change the fact that he was… different.

"Father, I would like to introduce you to my familiar."

Dick perked up at that, Damian had hidden his familiar from all of them since the beginning, they were starting to think he didn't have one.

A figure, slender and pale skinned stepped from the shadows.

"Father, this is Tim, my familiar." The look on Damian's face dared anyone to comment.

Jason started laughing. "What is he supposed to be, fuck you got some sort of nature spirit or some shit. Well isn't that just precious."

Tim smiled, a sharp vicious little thing before replying. " I'm not a nature spirit." His pupils turned into sharp black slits "I'm a dragon."

…

When Damian had gone searching as they all had to do, he had gone alone. This was something they all did once. They had gone looking for their better halves.

He had ventured south as far to the south as he could go, traveling a year on foot through the great desserts and the in between worlds. He had walked until he reached the forests dark and warm, filled with climbing vines and crackling grass. He had climbed and burrowed and waded through territory unknown and when he arrived, what he found was Tim.

Laying in a grassy field, dressed in a soft white shirt and matching shorts his familiar had gazed at him blue eyes shining, mouth upturned as he spoke, "I have waited a long time for you young one. An eternity."

Damian took his place beside the older man, his body moving before his mind could protest.

All his life had learned that the bond between familiar and magician, shaman, sorcerer, whatever name the practitioner chose, was sacred. All his life he had been told that it was like breathing for the very first time, like being reborn.

Here in the grassy field, lying beside his familiar, Damian shed his skin, born anew as something greater, as something more than what he had been before. He is not an Al Ghul, or a Wayne. He is Damian.

"Your name is Tim." The name sounds right on his tongue. His mind knows the other name, the longer, older name spoken when the earth was young but he does not speak it.

That was the name that leveled mountains and dried up seas. Damian is not yet worthy to speak a name that holds so much power, so much presence, but he will be, because for the first time in his life Damian can breathe.

…

Tim allowed Damian to place his head on his lap, his child half upset at the challenge issued.

''I don't want you to fight.'' The little boy whispered. He would always be a little boy to Tim, always this small fragile thing to the dragon's great mass and presence.

Ra's al Ghul had challenged his grandson. Damian had no choice but to accept, or forfeit his life. Old traditions could not be broken, these ones most of all. For the practitioners a challenge, officially made and spoken had to be met.

There was no other way.

The two would fight. One would lose.

The winner would be granted a boon, something the loser had to give them. A promise, an oath. If the boon was not accepted, the defeated would be forced to take their own life or have it taken from them.

Ra's had won many a challenge.

Tim sighed at the foolish worry, of his young one ''Hush, hatchling. I will not lose.''

Damian's hands twisted in the fabric of his familiars shirt. He had seen his grandfather fight, other creatures sacrificed to the great snake that followed him, disposing on the bodies the old sorcerer left in his wake.

He could not win. Not at his age, not at his skill level and he knew what would be asked. He would be forced to go back to the house of Al Ghul, in what capacity, he did not know, but he could not give his grandfather access to a dragon, to Tim.

He would not force upon his familiar the League of Shadows.

Damian knew Tim was ancient but Ra's was crafty in his age.

…

The battle was held in another plain, one made of desert sand and howling wind. Their fight would not shake the earth.

''Grandson,'' Ra's greets, ''Have you come to forfeit?''

Damian stands proud in front of Tim, defiant, ''No Grandfather. I have come to do battle.''

The old man is calm, and Tim does nothing but watch, eyes flickering to the snake behind him, the large reptile the width of a road and the length of a small river. He cannot see the end of its tail, but he knows where it is. He can feel it flicking back and forth in distance. It is an annoyance he could live without.

Ra's bows, when Damian reciprocates the action the battle begins. This has been tradition long before Damian or Ra's. A fair start to a dirty fight.

There is a moment where the young Robin is terrified, scared of what will pass, what will happen. He knows that he cannot win and he has never seen Tim fight, never fought with him.

He believed Tim when the ancient told him not to worry, to keep calm. When he was told that everything would be fine, but he knows his grandfather. He trusts that Tim will win, because he was told that he would, but he knows his grandfather.

In a flash of light, a shift of earth, an ancient rises, human skin forgotten.

He has never seen Tim in his other form save for a hint of claw and sharp eyes, never known him as anything but small, and thin.

He is no longer either of those this, he is majesty in motion. Larger than a small planet, Damian can only see the underside of his belly from where he is protected. Or at least he thinks he is under Tim's stomach.

_Little one_, a voice in his mind rings, _are you with me?_

And oh. _Yes_. Yes is here. With Tim. He can feel the old power, the great creature and he is everything. All rivers and oceans and life.

Once he learned that the centre of the earth held the not a core but the egg of a dragon and that when the earth shook the dragon egg was simply moving.

He does not think his familiar moved much as an egg. He wonders what world Tim had been at the centre of.

He will ask, later, when the battle is over, if there was truth to the legend. He feels that there is, for where else would Tim have come from?

Perhaps his birthplace had been blue, for the scales he sees are like living breathing metal. Cool and warm at the same time.

They are the colour of ocean and sky, a blue so wonderful it nearly makes him weep. They are the colour of Tim's eyes, edging into white.

He has known, in the places that rest within what Tim was, who he was, but he has never seen it not like because, Tim is so very…Tim.

Most of the time his form lies. It hides within its slender beauty, something that hatched from an egg and split a world in birth, breaking it into pieces.

He wonders if the soil he walks on has one of Tim's brethren nestled in its core.

He wonders and strokes the warm, metal scales.

He thinks and he waits, uncaring of the time that has passed, of the things that have occurred outside his space, nestled between soft sand and Tim.

When, finally, his familiar re-appears in human form he can see his grandfather burned, lying unconscious in the sand, his snake missing part of its tail.

He knows what he will ask.

''grandfather, are you capable to hearing me?''

The small nod is his only clue that Ra's is conscious. Looking to Tim for the permission to ask, his familiar nods. He will only do this with Tim's consent, he was after all, the one who fought when Damian was unable.

''You will leave me and my familiar alone in all capacities for as long you exist in this world and the next and the one after, is that understood Ra's al Ghul?''

The binding holds. The boon has been agreed to.

An oath has been accepted, a promise made.

He will no longer be bothered by the sorcerer. Ra's will not risk his life to settle this score. He would not dare. The break a promise forced from a challenger is to forfeit ones life.

Tim turns towards him, eyes sparkling. ''Did I not tell you hatchling. I do not lose.''

Damian is beginning to think that perhaps his familiar never has.

When they return he will ask for a story, one from Tim's childhood, whenever it may have occurred.


	8. Aftermath

The summary: Damian and Tim survive a five hundred year war/apocalypse and then arrange it so that everything reverses. They are now back in the bodies they had, that of a ten and seventeen year old, respectively, with the memories of a war that no one else remembers.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Aftermath:**

Tim sighs as he cuts through the rope restraining Damian. He doesn't say a word but his hands are gentle as they rub at the youngest Robins wrists.

He is silent as he leads Damian to a safe house, a nest tucked away underneath an abandoned movie theatre. It is one that Damian has never seen before yet the décor speaks of the tasteful understated nature that he associates with Tim. The elder Robin has been here often.

He is silent as patches up Damian's wounds, no stitches required.

He is silent as he places a tray of food in front of the youngest. The soup will be good for him, as will the fresh bread accompanying his meal. The antibiotics placed beside the bowl are more of a preventative measure than anything else. Sitting in an abandoned warehouse for hours on end is not the healthiest of activities.

Tim is silent and Damian can't think of a single word to say.

He eats the food and takes the pills, allows himself to be led into a bedroom, and them he allows himself to sleep. He wishes he could say that he felt no fear, but this was Ra's, this was grandfather and Damian of all people knew exactly what he was capable of. Ra's wanted him dead.

When he wakes it is to the sound of someone singing, their voice clear and haunting. For a moment he thinks that he's dreaming before he places the tone. It's Drake, Tim.

Tim who rescued him. Tim. The name repeats in his mind, he savors the feel of it on his tongue, breathing it out. It feels like like a new day, a change a of mind.

Damian blushes and buries his face under the covers.

…

Damian vigilant as always would slip into Tim's room quiet as a mouse to sleep beside the elder Robin as had been their custom for years. It was strange to go to an empty bed when he had once spent two consecutive years holding Tim in his arms, curling over the body that had once been smaller than his. It was during one of those nighttime trips that Tim began to speak, breaking the silence so integral to both of them that it remained unobserved.

"We need to tell Bruce."

Damian's hands stroke even lines down Tim's back, trying to break the knots that had built up over time."He's awake now."

The subtle shift in Tim's eyes told Damian everything he needed to know. There were some things they couldn't hide. Some things they didn't want to hide, not after so long. Neither of them was willing to play along with a role they barely remembered. They were no longer the youngest children. War had broken them of their childish dreams long ago, or perhaps more appropriately, another time had done so.

They would not lie, not about this.

Stepping out of the bed first Damian offered his arm courteously to Tim.

Their walk down to the cave was both awkward and smooth. The disparity in their size made the scene of Damian leading Tim down the steps they had both walked down a lifetime ago strange, their familiarity made it work.

Bruce as always sat in the batcave staring at the monitor in front of him, the harsh light of the screen deepened the shadows that painted his face. The boys, men, ancients in the bodies of youth waited for him to turn.

When he finally faces them they tell him that they need to talk, and that he need to listen until they finish. Bruce nods his head once and only once.

It takes all night for them to explain themselves and by the end of it, they are tired, Damian resting his head in Tim's lap as he speaks of a world gone to madness. He speaks of Dick, then Jason and finally Bruce dying in the worst ways. He speaks of how the Justice League fell and how they stitched together the world as best they could with only themselves as thread. He speaks of pain and Bruce watches Tim, the way his hands rest on Damian's shoulder, calm and steady.

He thinks that for a moment he sees just what had kept them alive for so long in the face of a world on the brink of ending. It sits somewhere between the way Damian stares at Tim and the way Tim looks at Damian. The way they move, adapted and changed to fit another person as though at one point they melded at the seams, as though they were no longer two separate people but one cohesive unit inhabiting two forms. He wonders if this, perhaps, is how they survived.

When it is over and Tim has spoken his piece, a strange mesh of a mission report spanning countless years and a personal memoir, Bruce is silent.

He does not know what to say to his youngest, who have aged so much, who are older than him. He does not know what to say. Two days ago his children were young, his children were broken and hurting but they were his. Hearing them speak, it feels as though he has lost his children who have woken up one morning completely different than the people he has grown to understand.

They are new variables, new people and he does not know his place with his sons who are twenty times his own age and more. Who stare at him with calm eyes as if they know this pain, this loss and after everything Bruce has witnessed on this hallowed night, perhaps they do. Perhaps they of all people understand loss.

Two days ago he had two angry sullen children with far too many problems and now he is faced with two grown men.

It feels as though he has lost his children. He wishes that he could have told them just once that he loved them before their world went to hell. He can see the parts that he knows, the parts that he has seen before, but more than that he can see countless other things he cannot begin to understand.

In the end he say's the only words he can and hopes they will be enough, "I love you both, and I am proud of you were and of you have become."

They sound like an echo throughout the cave. Tim smiles a brilliant grin that feels like forgiveness should and Damian looks content, if sleepy.

"We know."

It is enough.


	9. Anything People

Anything People: This one is based on the idea that Tim and Damian often pick characters to be and then go out places as different people together. They wear different faces, not as a training exercise but as a game.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

...

Anything People:

Neither of them are sure how it started. How the game began or who laid down their weapons first. The only thing they knew. The only thing they were sure off was that they couldn't stop.

"Hello Mother" Damian whispers, slipping his calloused hand into the gloved one beside it.

A woman with dark black hair and clear blue eyes looks down at him. She's ethereal in the white silk of her shirt and gloves, the dove grey of her matching skirt and tailored jacket.

Tim squeezes the slightly larger hand in his. Damian still has a long way to grow, but it shows in the cant of his shoulders, the width of his palms that he will large. Tall and stunning enough to break the hearts of socialites the world over.

The woman laughs a soft wicked thing, mischievous as she places a kiss on her son's forehead pressing his body to hers as she cards her fingers through his hair. "Hello darling." She replies, taking care to straighten his collar.

It's all part of the game. Another set of faces to wear, another identity. Damian looks up through brown colored contacts and couldn't help but recognize that Drake made a beautiful woman, a perfect mother.

They'd have to wear these faces again. Chose this role to play, because Damian watched the woman beside him and saw himself in the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones. Imagined himself as hers, her flesh, her blood.

He saw the mother he never got to have in delicate touch of her hand, the way she took the utmost care of him.

"I have missed you" _I would like to wear this face again, please let me. Let me have this, please._

"I'm here darling, I'll always be here." _Yes._

…

Dick couldn't help but notice when the hostility between Damian and Tim went down to the extent that they actually got along. To the extent that Dick could actually describe them as being friendly without lying though his teeth. To the extent that they spent time together outside of the manor.

It was the last that led Dick to follow them on one of their evenings out. He had tracked them to a restaurant in upper Gotham. It was private enough that the two Wayne boys could eat without being disturbed. If they were having dinner, it would be adorable and he would take pictures before embarrassing them….horribly, possibly by getting very very drunk. With that thought in mind he resolved himself to enter.

The waiter escorted him to a table immediately, gushing profusely about their fabulous menu unfortunately his younger brothers were nowhere to be found.

There was however a beautiful lady a few tables away. Grey eyes set on an aristocratic face. The strawberry red of her curls glowed in the candlelight. She was the kind of lady that had class. Maybe a bit older than Dick, but god she was stunning. That was the face that artists a world over would kill to immortalize in paint and stone.

The shimmering material of her floor length dress reminded him of butterfly wings. The champagne color brought the stark lily white nature of her being into focus. The diamond earrings and bracelet she wore were clearly worth several years of pay to a middle class family. She was lovely, bordering on divine and she was eating dinner by herself.

Just as he made up his mind to introduce himself a shorter figure joined her. He was young, maybe 13, but tall. Pale as what appeared to be his mother and dotted with freckles. The red of his hair was almost auburn. Dressed in a black suit and tie he took his seat with the awkwardness boys of that age were prone to.

His mother, definitely his mother, smiled at the boy as if the sun had just risen. Dick aborted his attempt to stand and decided to leave them be. They seemed happy. Maybe it was the kid's birthday or he had done well on a test, or maybe this was a thing for them. Mother, son bonding for the upper class.

Dick had seen so many families with the same amount of money, give half the amount of love that she was sending her son. Her eyes, her posture, the way she smiled at the young teen made it clear that he was special to her.

The lack of a wedding ring on her hands tantalized Dick, and if she hadn't had company he would have spoken with her. Her lilting French was quiet but Dick could just make it out over the rest of the conversation. Visitors to Gotham then. She sounded wonderful, her voice a delicate purr as she spoke with her son.

Eating his dinner and leaving, Dick wondered where Tim and Damian had disappeared to. He watched the mother and son come out of the restaurant, a white fur coat draped over slender shoulders. Opening the car door for his mother the kid smiled, happy and awkward as his mother let out a short but clear laugh.

Watching them leave Dick knew that, she was the type of woman who would break your heart. Her husband must have dead or stupid to leave someone like that.

Next week Dick thought, I'll try again.

…

Inside the black limousine Tim laughed his little sigh of a laugh. "If you hadn't been there Dick would have tried to pick me up."

Damian scowled. "It's your fault, for looking like…that."

Tim raised an eyebrow "And what exactly do I look like, Damian?"

He huffed, loosening the tie that had been wrapped around his neck for the better part of the evening.

"Tt."

Beautiful. Lovely. Ethereal.

Tim smiled. "Thank you."

"Will he try to follow us again?" Damian asked, curious but unafraid. If all else failed they could claim they were learning how to disguise themselves in a more efficient manner.

Tim nodded. "That's what makes the game interesting."

The hotel they had chosen was close to the restaurant. By the time, they had finished their conversation and Tim had reapplied his lip gloss with the small mirror he carried in his purse, they had arrived.

Damian stepped out of the car first, waiting for Tim to re-adjust his dress, smirking he held the door open. "Shall we, mother?"

Tim took the offered hand and stepped out of the car effortlessly. "Of course we shall darling. I would enjoy nothing better."

The radiant smile that Damian had been faced with the entire night beamed down at him. They would do this again.

**Preparation:**

"Damian can you pass me the dress that's on the bed." Tim called from behind the changing screen. From what Damian had seen, tonight Tim wouldn't be simply beautiful, he would be heartbreaking. He was naturally stunning, when he tried, put effort into his appearance, he lost all semblance of humanity.

His own makeup covered every piece of visible skin, making it pale and creamy, but for the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. Passing the dress over the screen he waited patiently for Tim to come out. He had learned not to rush the elder. The end result was always worth it.

"You look like an empress." Were the first worlds out of Damian's mouth, as Tim stepped out from behind the screen. "No one is going to believe you're human."

Tim smiled darkly "Dick has been following us, and tonight we need to hide more than usual." Damian inclined his head, showing his attentiveness. "How do we hide Damian?" The voice came out a husky purr. Feminine with a darker undertone. When Tim continued, Damian remained entranced by the way the artificial light made him glow.

"Do we hide in plain sight, become the majority, or do we hide in shadows were no one can see us? Do we hide by gaining as much attention as possible and by doing so become so completely removed from that which is being chased that we are ignored?"

All were valid ways of disguise that Damian had learned for the most part from Tim. He had learned from the way Tim changed his walk, his voice, the very way he moved with each new disguise. He had been trained as an assassin not spy, but Tim was malleable. He adapted to the situation in ways Damian strived to learn. Watching Tim sit in front of the vanity, taking the utmost care with the brown mascara wand, he waited.

" Yes and no Damian. When we know what we're hiding from, we pick the method to suit the one who's chasing us. Dick has never been able to take his eyes off a beautiful woman when lives weren't at stake. Especially not a red head."

Tim paused. Spreading blush on his cheeks.

"We give the bird something shiny to stare at and then we shoot it in the head when it's not looking. Metaphorically speaking of course."

Damian held his tongue. Sometimes Tim scared him. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder which one of them had been raised to kill at birth. The lip gloss that had been chosen was clear and shiny, it smelled of peppermint.

"Where did you learn this?" Damian asked. Where did you learn to manipulate and hide. To create yourself again and again.

Tim stood up, the finishing touches complete. A new skin to wear ready for its test run. "My mother."

**High-school Confidential**

The blond wig, and green eyes made the tan of Damian's skin inconsequential, he is the younger brother of a girl with matching blonde hair, fair as the white of her shirt. They are siblings walking through a park in East London. They are only that. At this moment, they have never been anything but that.

"Are you coming?" The elder blonde giggles, skipping ahead of the younger. Her accent is lilting, based on Alfred's but spoken at a higher pitch, it falls just short of unpleasant. Tim has never liked making his voice unpleasant unless absolutely necessary. It is something Damian has grown to appreciate after being subjected to the high pitched squealing of the debutantes who flit through his father's parties like drunken schoolgirls.

The blue plaid skirt of the private school uniform sways lightly in the wind. The cardigan worn over the plain white button up is a lovely shade of grey, one that would have matched blue eyes better than green. Tim knows he'll never be able to wear it again. Part of him is sad, the greater majority is careful. They cannot risk repeating certain things.

Damian sulks, like the elementary school student he appears to be. "Just because you insist on skipping everywhere doesn't mean that I want to."

His hair is a golden, honey colored mop that leaves him looking more like a Californian surfer, tanned and ready to spend another day at the beach than a West London native.

Tim smiles back at him, sending coy glances at the school boy's walking a few feet behind Damian. They're not acquaintances, but regular everyday schoolboys walking home. They are Tim's age, perhaps younger and they stare at the milky legs revealed by the length of the skirt in much the same way hungry dogs salivate over meat. They stare in a way that makes Damian scowl and grab Tim's hand, threading their fingers together.

Tim laughs and pinches his cheek." Aww..baby brother, do you miss me, oh yes you do. Yes you do. Are you still old enough to hold my hand? Oh yes you are."

Tim's message was perfectly clear, the act of territoriality was stupid and useless. The dissolution into baby talk was irritating. To the boys trailing behind them. Damian was a younger brother. His attempt to stake a claim could never occur.

"I'm making sure you don't wander off and chase another butterfly."

The elder scowled." That was one time and I was 10, how do you even remember that? You must have been a fetus." The petulant tone was ridiculous in it's believability.

At this moment he is not Damian Wayne watching Timothy Drake. He is not Robin watching Red Robin. He is a nameless schoolboy watching his elder sister.

She's a cheerleader, the golden girl, happy and beautiful. She smiles often and laughs loud and free.

She is nothing like Timothy Drake, except for the knowledge that she is Timothy Drake. The knowledge that underneath the wig was someone else entirely scared him, because he could not catch a single glimpse of Tim otherwise.

The way the elder Robin slipped into another skin, another person and discarded them when he was finished awed him in its ruthless efficiency. In the knowledge that if Timothy Jackson Drake chose to disappear, he would be gone forever.

"I want to see a movie today."

Sometimes Tim scared him.

Green eyes look at him, warm and mischievous. "Which one?"

**Baby-sitting:**

"Why are we here again?"

In truth Damian was enjoying himself greatly. The museum was exhibiting an ancient weapons collection.

The brunette glared down at him. "Your parents don't pay me to let you spend the entire day in front of a computer. A little bit of culture won't hurt you."

The pink streak in her hair is tucked behind one ear.

"You don't know that." he replies snottily.

"We'll take that chance."

One day, he will ask why Tim seems to have such a preference for woman's clothing. The simple t-shirt and jeans do nothing for her. Her face is plain, unassuming and the glasses perched on her nose make her mousy.

"Did you at least bring my snacks, I don't want to eat museum food." He whines.

She looks down at him gesturing to the blue bag slung across her shoulder. "Yes, I brought your snacks, chocolate pudding made with real chocolate. Yum."

They spend the first 30 minutes meandering around, before they get to the weapons. Damian shows all the excitement a boy his age should towards sharp pointy things, pressing up at the glass to get a better view.

Tim follows him lazily.

Damian is happy that Tim has chosen to make himself relatively plain. A few looks are garnered but no one comes up to speak to her. For that Damian is glad. In his position as the child Tim grudgingly looks after he can stake no claim to ward off others. Not as a bratty younger brother nor a son.

They spend the day peering at weapons and wondering which ones they could re-create. No one bothers them.

Tonight, they'll fly back to Gotham.

…

Bruce Wayne is passing through the park, his ward Dick walking beside him. Somehow Dick had convinced him to look for Damian and Tim. Possibly through whining despondently and presenting factual evidence that Tim and Damian were disappearing under his watch.

Alfred putters along picnic basket in hand, a benign expression on his face. He is glad the family has decided to take a stroll through the park. The Wayne family is having, what is a assumed to be a quaint picnic. The only reason Bruce hasn't questioned Dick sanity is because they had the lost the two youngest members of the family approximately fifty three minutes ago. Bruce is not amused but Dick is happy to be right and on a picnic.

Deciding that they may as well have some of the food Alfred so thoughtfully packed they set up underneath a tall oak tree as they watch the various families playing together, dogs and children running rampant.

To their left an elderly couple is sitting on a bench feeding pigeons. The little old man is shrunken by age, his white hair thick and his frame offset by a slight belly. His hands are large and marked by time. His wife is taller than him, lithe and dressed in floral print with a wide brimmed had. Once upon a time she must have been beautiful. Bruce wonders how they must have looked then, a short burly young man and a tall skinny woman. An odd couple to be sure, but charming none the less.

He watches as the little old man pulls a flower out from behind his back, a small slight of hand magic trick that he must have preformed a thousand times before but his wife still covers her mouth in surprise and clutches the flower to her chest. They are in love.

The rose, a single red thornless thing would have been overdone by anyone else, but given their age Bruce supposes they came from a time where roses were still the classy gift.

Bruce gives roses to the girls he breaks up with. A parting gift. Alfred has the order memorized and if that failed there was always the garden which rested behind Wayne Manor.

Leaning together, they feed the birds from a small paper bag.

Dick catches him staring and smiles. "Watching the little old couple Bruce? Do you think they do this every weekend?" They look as though they have spent many an evening feeding birds at the park.

Bruce smiles, taking a grape from the picnic basket and plopping it into his mouth. "Probably." he replies.

Laying back down on the red blanket beneath him, Bruce stares at the sky. It was a good day for a picnic.

….

The little old man escorts the little old lady down the street. If anyone had been watching they would have seen the elderly couple disappear into the darkness. Rappelling through the air they moved unseen to one of the various Robin's nests, avoiding Oracle's camera's and various other surveillance equipment.

The first thing Damian does when he enters is rip off the face mask. It had been irritating him for hours.

Tim is more elegant with the removal of his, but his first action is the same as Damian's. Masks were always uncomfortable in heat.

Flopping onto the couch the younger Robin removes his shoes, and pulls the padding that had given him a slight belly from underneath his shirt. The suspenders are lost at some point in between.

Tim does not bother with the dress, he simply pulls the falsies he had placed on his person out from under the dress. Grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen counter, Tim is thankful for air conditioning.

Tim offers the liquid to Damian and watches as he gulps it down. It had been boiling out, even more so in full disguise. Waiting for Damian to drink his fill Tim speaks. "That, little Robin, is how you fool the Batman."


	10. Sick

Summary: Damian has slowly been poisoning Tim.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

….

"Drake, Drake open the door this instant. Tt."

Damian picked the lock with ease, carefully opening the door. Drake was to have shown up in the cave 15 minutes ago and Grayson had sent him to check on the nuisance.

"Drake?"

The lump below the covers didn't move. Damian walked towards it, taking care to make no sound. Slowly he peeled back the covers wondering why Drake didn't react to his presence.

The figure underneath the sheets mewled pathetically. Drake was ill, his face rosy cheeked and his eyes glassy as he stared at Damian. "Nnn…Damian?"

His voice was scratchy, weak from the virus. He placed a hand on his forehead, and grimaced. High fever.

Drake was…. surprisingly pleasant like this, laid out on the bed, flushed and helpless. He didn't even raise a struggle as Damian ran a hand from his cheekbones all the way down to his neck. Damian wondered if he could keep him like this. Suspended in a helpless state. Safe inside Wayne manor.

All it would take was a drop or two in his tea, nothing that would cause any permanent harm, but something to keep him unable to function as a vigilante. Something that would keep him like this, rosy cheeked and pliant.

…

**Two Drops**

Smiling as he plumps the pillow beneath Tim's head, Damian ignores the look of confusion on his predecessors face.

"Why are you doing this?"

Adding another blanket to the one Tim was already using Damian considers whether he should purchase blankets of a more pleasant shade of blue. "You are ill, the correct thing to do would be to care for you."

Tim watches him for a moment and Damian stills the twitch developing in his leg, he will not give himself away. Pouring a cup of green tea into a lavender mug the shorter boy can't help note the tremor in Tim's arms. He can barely sit up on his own. Leaving the tea alone, Damian places his hands on either side of the delicate ribs that span Tim's chest and pulls him up to lay against the headboard.

"Tt. You should not try to move, you are still weak."

Tim says nothing but Damian knows better than to relax. This is Drake when he is at his most dangerous. This is Drake as he watches his enemy for any flaw in their armor. Damian must be perfect. Soon Tim will be used to Damian's attention but for now he allows this period of adaptation. Tim will learn that Damian only wishes to help him.

Placing the tea to the lips of the taller boy Damian watches as he drinks the concoction. Two drops. All it took was two little drops. Wiping Tim's lips with a napkin, Damian took pains not smile. Two drops in the teapot, placed when Alfred wasn't looking and it had worked beautifully.

Tim was incapacitated, rosy cheeked and breathless yet still intelligent and capable. It was the perfect solution.

Helping the older boy lay down Damian arranges the sheets for maximum warmth. He will purchase new sheets in the morrow. Taking the dishes with him as he leaves he cannot suppress a single smile.

…

Tim has gotten tired of laying in bed all the time. Every time he seems to recover he has a relapse. His body is weak and somehow he has always expected this.

His mother had been sickly as well.

Janet Drake, cold harpy that she was succumbed to an illness. It had not dulled the blade of her mind nor the sharpness of her tongue but it had left her tired, bedridden at times.

Tim always knew he took after her.

For the most part, Tim was lucky. He could walk all he wished, he simply could not run. He could exert himself but only to an extent before his body started to get angry with him, attacking him with hacking coughs and weak limbs. He was incredibly prone to fainting.

His family had been concerned and upset, but the one who spent the most time with Tim, possibly because he had the most time to spent, was Damian.

The younger boy tried to make Tim as comfortable as possible, reading to him when Tim was in the throes of a high fever and bringing him tea when his body was chilled.

Damian to Tim's surprise, never took advantage of Tim's illness to harm him. Instead the younger boy tried to make him feel better.

He even brought the older boy to the batcave, making the computer consoles more Tim friendly, changing the chair into one much larger and softer, equip with fluffy blankets and a small fridge filled with water bottles to keep him hydrated. Alfred would provide the food.

Smiling Damian watched Tim work on hacking the government mainframes. His plan was perfect.

…

Damian walked into a scene from his worst nightmares.

Grayson sat by Tim's side, his fingers carding through his hair, the older figure spoon feeding soup to the feverish one sprawled over and between a vast mountain of pillows Damian had accumulated.

The red one was from Persia, filled with down and lined with silk and velvet.

All of his hard work, all of his deception, his planning and Grayson was reaping his reward. Grayson was comforting Tim.

That was his place. It was the place he made for himself and if the first Robin spooned one more bit of soup into Tim's mouth he was going to break off his traitorous fingers and feed them to him.

Dick cooed, poking Tim's nose with his finger. Playfully making popping sounds as he did.

Damian seethed. He had spent so much time working, ensuring that Timothy would be well taken care of and that he would need a certain amount of taking care off, and this was what came of it.

In his mind a litany of injuries he could inflict on Dick played and re-played themselves. The scenes perfecting how much pain he could cause and to what extent he could hurt him.

He knew that he would only have a certain amount of time to execute any plan he wished to utilize. Mostly because he wanted Grayson far away from Tim.

It would have to be tonight He would not stand for anything less.

Another day of having to watch this travesty was far too much. Soon.

He could not remove Dick at the moment, it would cause too much distress to Tim, and that could not be done, but soon.

…

The moment Dick left the room Damian attacked.

The fight was vicious. A twist of the arm, a block, a pary. Dick had been surprised but he had been a bat for far longer than Damian. He re-acted and retaliated.

Growling Damian lunged yet again, aiming for the soft weak, fleshy points. The places that would hurt.

He could not kill the older man. The consequences would be far too dire. They would cause too much backlash and his father would hunt him down like a mad dog.

He could, however, injure, jabbing at Dick's kidney with his elbow, the youngest Robin grinned, yes, he could indeed hurt the eldest bird.

Dick grunted, "Damian stop." Huffing he dodged the next blow.

Neither of them expected Batman, Bruce to pull them off each other, or rather Damian off Dick.

The glare was warning enough.

…

Tim had listened from his bedroom, the sounds of fighting penetrating the thin door. He could not move. His body not able to walk such a distance on a day like today.

All he could do was lay down on the bed and wait, hope that it would pass soon.

He couldn't believe Damian was attacking Dick. That he just went after the older boy like a rabid animal from what he can tell, refusing to stop until Bruce came.

..

"Damian." Bruce spoke, disappointment seeping through. The youngest Wayne did not care. "You know better. Two weeks with the Titans. No coming home until you finish."

Robin's eyes widened minutely,_ was his father mad_? If he was with the idiot brigade he would be unable to watch over Timothy. He would not be able to…

Gritting his teeth Damian agrees.

He can not let the reason why he ambushed the eldest of the family come to light. Not now, not yet. He will allow them to believe that this had been yet another way for him to act out, a thing of hormones and a personality.

They did not need to know his reasons.

…

Bruce closes his eyes, his son, the only one he has by blood is standing in front of him.

"Why?" He asks because he needs to know.

Why did you poison Tim, continue to poison Tim and then take care of him. What goal required that, needed Tim pliant and tired. What purpose did it suit?

He asks because something inside him is so very sick as the thought of what Damian did. The youngest Robin polluting the third.

Damian is unrepentant in the face of Bruce's questioning. "He's better like this."

Bruce's eyes widen. He can not quiet believe what comes from his son's mouth because-

"Better?You've been poisoning him. Some days he can barely move and you think its better?"

Damian sneers, "Yes. Yes I believe it is better then sending him out to fight when is he is too frail to do so. Don't pretend to care."

Bruce does not know how to navigate the treacherous paths Damian's mind is following. The logic that equates making someone sick with love.

"Damian. You can not do this. You will stop."

"It's already done, father. What you found were the residual doses. Timothy will live long as he would have regardless, the drug simply…well..you've seen the effects. Every symptom is now a chronic lifelong condition."

Robin made plans. His plans worked. Bruce does not know what to tell Tim, but he knows this.

"You can no longer be Robin. This is not acceptable behavior. You will be staying in a different Wayne property until your punishment is decided. This has gone too far."

Bruce needs to run tests, he needs to see if things can be reversed, and he can not believe that his youngest did this to one of the family.

Damian is suspiciously uncaring but Bruce does not notice, too lost in the thought of reversing what had been done to Tim.

He will work through until the morning, checking the samples he had collected from Tim when the "illness" first occurred.

He will find a cure but Tim will not be there in the morning. Damian knows this.

Both of them will be gone.


	11. Sleeping Beauty

**Sleeping Beauty**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Summary: Tim is stuck in a coma due to a mistake Damian made. The youngest Robin tries to take care of him in the wake of the attack. Damian/Tim

He was so pale and small on the bed that Damian couldn't help but wince. The bandages that had covered the third Robin's forehead had long since been removed. This, this was his fault.

If he had been better, faster, stronger he would have realized that there was a second shooter, but he didn't. He didn't listen to Drake, Tim when he was told to move, until Tim was left lying in a pool of blood, bleeding out in some nameless warehouse in the Narrows.

Sometimes Tim looked like he was only sleeping. Sometimes he looked as though at any moment he would open his eyes. Damian liked those days. The days where he could pretend that Tim would wake up soon even if it was lie. There was a possibility that his predecessor could sleep the rest of his life away, and that made the bile in Damian's throat rise.

He had pushed himself even harder than before, after his mistake had caused…this. This state, this coma. When he wasn't training he spent his time moving limbs so they wouldn't atrophy, or turning him to prevent bed sores. He spent his time painstakingly applying sunscreen because Pennyworth insisted that fresh air and sunlight would be good for Tim, but he remained pale and small as ever.

Smaller now than ever before. Tim had lost muscle mass and weight, what little he had, leaving him frail and doll like in the wake of the attack.

Damian spent his time softly combing though hair, and changing clothes, always picking soft white t-shirts and boxers, taking care to match the color of the pristine white bed Tim resided in. Damian was the one who painted entire suite was white, just as cold and lovely as Tim.

He would often muse, that Tim was like a princess from a fairy-tale, thus he deserved a room befitting of that status.

A cross between Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White with hair black as night, skin white as snow and lips red as blood, locked in a white tower. If only a witch had cursed him, then, Damian might have been able to save him, now he could only wait for a day that may never come.

"What would it take to wake you princess?" he whispered, stroking one feather soft cheek before placing a kiss on his lips.

"Jason came back to the house; he's living with us now. You would have liked that. Dick is quieter than he used to be although you wouldn't believe me."

Damian paused, what else would Tim like to hear he wondered? Later he would read to him, fairy tales old and new from the vast corners of the earth.

"I brought you flowers today, sunflowers; you must not have liked the roses from last time because you broke out in hives, but I promise I'll do better this time. I promise I'll be better, so please just wake up."

Damian placed a final kiss on Tim's cheek before walking out of the room. He would be back tomorrow, perhaps Tim would like some daisies, they were common but Pennyworth had insisted that they could be charming.

Yes, Damian thought. Tomorrow I'll bring daisies.

…

When Tim woke up, the sky was the perfect shade of blue. The kind of blue that makes it hard to tell sky from sea. The kind of blue that takes everything from you, because it _is_ everything.

Tim has dreamt of this blue before, over and over again. Here the fields are a startling purple, the trees bear ripe fruit and the wind doesn't blow.

He's alone. No one else is there.

He can never tell if he sleeps or wakes, or if any time passes at all but sometimes he feels things. There is a scent carried by the ground beneath him that smells of sandalwood and musk, something male and human, but lovely all the same. It's Damian's and Tim knows it the way he knows that Dick smells

oddly of fruit and Jason of smoke.

The first time he hears Damian pleading for him to wake up, to get better, it rains.

"_Please, I'm sorry. I'll be better, I'll do better, I'll be everything you want me to be, all you have to do is awaken. Pleasepleaseplease I'm sorry, I'm sorry…please."_

Fat, thick drops fall over violet fields. They taste like salt. When he first woke up, he thought that he had died, before he heard the youngest Robin begging. At times Damian's voice would boom out from the sky, other times it would be a whisper in his ear. That voice reminded him of things he had forgotten. That voice reminded him that there had been attack and that his world, the world he resided in with its perfect sky, was not real.

At times he could feel hands combing his hair , stroking his face, carefully, always so carefully as though he was something precious, as though he was loved.

The first time Damian called him princess, Tim didn't know what to think, his hands gripped the soft white shorts he always wore. The kiss pressed to his lips afterwards was soft and careful, as all things were. The contact made Tim blush.

"_What would it take to wake you princess? A kiss upon your lips?"_

Tim didn't know what had changed. When he had come to mean so much to Damian, when he had started to matter that much, to anyone.

Slowly, Tim memorized the feel of the hands that dressed him, the hands that turned his body, the hands that spread lotion on his skin. The body that slept next to him when it could, when no one else was watching.

At times Tim would awaken to Damian's voice steady and fluid, reading him fairy tales.

"_And the queen wished for a child with hair black as the night sky, lips red as blood and skin white as freshly fallen snow…"'_

In every gesture of affection, every word spoken to him, a small warm spot grew in the centre of his chest for the youngest Robin.

In every confession.

"_He looks at me as though he can't stand the sight of me. As though he doesn't trust me. When will it be enough? What do I have to do to prove myself?"_

Every time he spoke of life at Wayne manor.

"_Jason came back to the house, he's living with us now. You would have liked that. Dick is quieter than he used to be although you wouldn't believe me."_

Every flower he brought.

"_I brought you flowers today, sunflowers, you must not have liked the roses from last time because you broke out in hives."_

Every plea for Tim to wake up.

"_I promise I'll to better this time. I promise I'll be better, so please just wake up."_

Made the warm spot grow larger, brighter. It was like carrying a miniature sun underneath his skin, , and because of that…

"_I think I may be in love with you, I have consulted the texts and Pennyworth, and they tell me that the pain I feel whenever I think of you hurting means that I love you."_

The warmth grows.


	12. The Plan

Summary: Bruce doesn't like that Damian keeps fighting with Tim. He decides that if he can't convey Tim's importance with words, he's going to do it with actions. Short Drabble.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

When Damian arrives, he's harsh and dark. So much like a younger version of him that Bruce nearly winces at the sight.

When Damian arrives his two youngest start a war. His son, his Damian wants nothing more than to rip off Tim's skin and wear it like a pelt. No amount of lecturing could possibly make a difference against Damian's impenetrable wall of righteous hatred.

So Bruce watches and forbids his new youngest from trying to kill Tim. Tim who could have loved Damian given the chance to do so.

Tim who was so lost at the moment that it hurt to look at him too.

If he couldn't end this madness between them, this war, with harsh words and orders. If he couldn't end it with the strength of his being. He'd do it another way. If he couldn't teach Damian that Tim was important and meant to be loved with words, then he'd use action. He would lead by example.

So Bruce wraps Tim up in his cloak as though he would melt, slip away from him if he doesn't. Bruce without fail puts more food on Tim's plate after Tim finishes serving himself. Bruce insists that Tim eat dessert because he was too thin, and that he needs to wear another sweater or else he'd get sick. All of which was true, because Tim was often predisposed to illness and when he got sick his chest shook and his body ached. When he got sick he looked as though at any moment his heart would give out, his body would fail and all that would remain would be his remains.

Damian watched. For a while he was endlessly more brutal, but Bruce was older, Batman stronger and he met every violent act with a defense, every insensitive barb with a parry. Slowly Damian wore down.

Without noticing he began to chastise Tim for going out without the proper coverings, the proper gloves. For not eating enough, for not sleeping enough. For not taking care of himself.

Damian regularly tried to feed Tim himself when the elder wasn't eating as much as was required for him to maintain a healthy weight.

Damian fussed over Tim's wounds.

Damian growled at anyone who attempted to initiate contact with Tim.

Damian was no longer at war.

Bruce was pleased.

…

Dick scowls "You know this isn't healthy."

Batman, Bruce looks at Dick from behind the cowl. "It's better this way."

Two floors above, Damian was sitting at Tim's bedside. The youngest Robin was wiping a damp cloth over a fevered brow, cooing soft words at the figure splayed beneath the covers.

Dick grimaced "Damian hasn't left Tim's room in days. He's been watching him sleep for hours."

Bruce stares back impassively. " Tim needed someone to take care of him, Damian needed to learn how to respect Tim."

Rubbing his face with his hands Dick groaned. "This isn't. This isn't respect Bruce. Monitoring someone's bowel movements, their food intake, their sleeping habits isn't respect. It's obsession. What happens when Tim starts dating, what happens then?"

The cave seemed darker than ever before as Bruce replied. "Damian will screen Tim's suitors."

Dick laughed bitterly "Damian will kills anyone who goes near him."

"Then Tim will become a part of the family, again."

Dick gaped before sitting down. Swallowing the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth he took a deep breath. This wasn't his Batman, this wasn't his Bruce, it couldn't be, because what he was suggesting was-

"Damian is ten." Dick whispered.

Bruce smiled. "Damian monitors Tim's bowel movements." As if that was an answer and in some ways it was. Damian would be devoted to the third Robin beyond any measure of comprehension. He had learned that from Bruce. While Dick was off in Bludhaven, Bruce had, manipulated his youngest children into..Dick didn't even know what.

"You can't do this to Tim. He's not a toy, or a bargaining chip for you to use. They would have stopped fighting Bruce, but this, Damian isn't used to affection, he's not going let Tim go."

"I don't expect him to."

…

Damian breathes in the smell of Tim's shirt, purring into the chest below him. He's been asleep for hours. It feels like days have passed restless and never ending. Soon he'll be better. Soon. He has to be. Needs to get better because Damian, Damian can't do this, he can't be without Tim, not now.

Not when he has spent so long trying to make him better, to take care of him, because if he wasn't here Tim wouldn't remember to eat or sleep properly. He just wouldn't. He would wither like the pet cat Damian had once kept, far from his grandfather's eyes. Kept until grandfather discovered the vermin and ordered Damian to snap it's neck.

He knows Tim would wither, he knows it because father showed him. Father showed him how fragile Tim was, how breakable. He showed him.

He didn't understand at first, not when Tim seemed perfectly capable. Perfectly able, but that was before and this was now. Now he knew. Now he watched him die. Almost die. Shaking apart on the bed. They said he fainted from exhaustion. Passed out. They said that he worked until he could work no more, the filthy useless cretins who did nothing but watch.

Father and him were gone for two weeks. They were gone and Tim would have died due to Grayson's utter incompetence at taking care of those around him. Due to his secretaries inability to schedule appointments to ensure that Tim did not have seventeen meeting in a span of less than two weeks. Whoever hired her should have been shot in the head. Useless bitch.

Damian growled and pressed his face deeper into Tim's chest.

It was as if they didn't see. As if they were the walking blind, hands over their eyes like the morons they were. Didn't they see him dying? Didn't they understand that if Damian didn't do these things, didn't feed Tim, make him rest, bring more layers of clothing for him to wear, Tim would die. He would die.

The desperation clawed at Damian's stomach, gnawed at him as he checked Tim's pulse. Made sure his lungs took air, that his airways were open.

Didn't they see that he would fade. Would pass out in his chair and no one would come for him, and Tim wouldn't want anyone to come for him. Wouldn't expect it. He would lay on the floor and give up, and he couldn't. Damian wouldn't allow it.

Not when Tim smiled at him for the first time after he demanded that he eat. Not after he hugged him, softly, like he didn't know how, and neither did Damian but that was okay, they would learn, re-learn all those things they never did. Together.

They would be content. Damian would make it so, because he couldn't, he couldn't leave Tim. Not when he allowed Damian to see his weakness and then fix it. Of course at first he had struggled, but father had done it first, to show Damian what his duty was and Tim would not go against father.

He wouldn't, so Damian watched Tim sleep. His eyes were closed. Black lashes stark against white cheeks.

He remembered the first time, the very first time Tim had been injured after father had shown him, remembered how easily Tim broke. How he bleed. He didn't understand why father allowed him to go and fight. He had others, soldiers far more expendable than Tim and he chose not use them.

That was fine though, Damian would handle the situation. He would take care of Tim. He would make things better. He would. He would. He had to. Had to.

How many hours had he been asleep. Two his mind supplied. Two. He needed to sleep more, he would be no use to anyone if he did not sleep. Tim. Tim needed to sleep more. He barely slept and when he did the nightmares would leave him trembling. He never made a sound, so Damian had to sleep with him. He had to, or else he wouldn't be able wake him up and soothe him. He wouldn't be able to do that. And he had to. He had to take care of Tim.

He had to.

His eyes close…

…

Tim stopped as he felt the slightly smaller body curling around his back.

"Timothy." It was always Timothy now, never Drake. Not anymore and certainly not from Damian. Occasionally it would be Tim and when in uniform Red, not Red Robin.

"You have forgotten your gloves. Yet again. It is a horrible habit, especially when you know how useless your circulation is. Come, give me your hands."

No sooner are the words out of Damian's mouth before the younger boy grasps Tim's slender wrists from behind and slips a pair of fleece lined gloves onto those aforementioned appendages.

He is efficient in this as he is in all things, tucking the gloves under the sleeves of Tim's jacket for maximum insulation.

Tim is slightly confused. As always. He does not know what to do.

When Bruce had returned, he had been so happy to have his father back that he did not question the man when he began to dote on Tim, he assumed it was some sort of change in mood due to time spent away.

He had, in truth, enjoyed the affections that had been so different when compared to the Batman knew. This version was so much kinder. After the years Tim had been through, the losses he had been dealt the kindness was needed. It allowed him to be sure of his place within his family.

He had been so very thankful to have Bruce back that he put off drug testing for months, making excuses for the rapid change in behavior.

When Damian began to to act much like his father Tim spent weeks in the lab checking and rechecking results.

When nothing came from it, he took the changes in stride. His father was alive and Damian was no longer trying to kill him. How could be begin to complain for the minor discomfort the shift caused him when all the changes were for the best?

He trusted Bruce, but this-

"You should not stay out too long, in fact, I will accompany you. It would not do for you to catch ill in this weather."

Tim does not know how to begin asking why Damian is so nice to him. Is that even a question? He does not know the proper protocol for this.

He can not begin to figure out how one asks another why they care when once they had not. He does not want to complain, he does not want to to start an argument he just-

"Really." Damian grumbles, examining Tim's attire, "It is far too horrid to be wearing shoes, fifteen centimeters of snow may be paltry but the ground will be wet."

He just want to know why.

He allows the younger boy to lead him to the staircase, to unlace and remove his shoes, replacing them with boots Tim knows he did not buy for himself.

All the while he worries his bottom lip and tries to form the correct words to say.

He comes up with these, "Damian." At the sound of Tim's voice the youngest Robin moves his gaze from Tim's feet to his predecessors face. His eyes express concern for the worry Tim is conveying.

"I-I, wanted to know why you're doing this." His voice is small.

He does not know how to ask someone why they are taking care of him, but he needs to know.

Damian blinks rapidly, disturbed by the way Tim has closed in on himself, shoulders hunching. This will not do.

With gentle hands he helps Tim stand.

"Someone needed to." He scoffs, before moving on to a more serious tone, "I do this because I care, and I care because you are a member of this household. You must forgive my earliest actions in regards to you. They were mistaken."

Oh. Family.

Another thing Tim does not know how to approach, how to deal with. Family had always meant being alone. He's had two fathers and both of them had, until recently, reinforced this.

Both had changed their minds. Jack after Janet had died and Bruce after coming back from his presumed death.

Maybe this is what family was.

As Damian walked him to the door Tim wondered if the younger Robin would also have a period of ignoring him before trying to look after him again. Maybe trying to kill him was a substitute for the lack of attention?

Tim knew the pattern made no sense and that families were not supposed to work like that, but it was a pattern none the less.


	13. What is Complicated

Damian/Tim

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: It can be taken as a part of the Seven Sin's drabble set or separately. Tim has been kidnapped by Ra's, Damian breaks the Batclan rules to save him.

What is Complicated

Damian walked away, cradling the smaller figure in his hands. Damian walked away and remembered.

"_Tim, has been taken by Ra's."_

"_What do you mean we can't do anything?I don't care who he's holding hostage, you will cease this madness at once father, you will bring him home."_

Damian adjusted his grip on the elder Robin taking care to mind the injuries on his back. Twenty lashes with a bullwhip had done severe damage. When he had first seen Tim's back, bloody and raw, he had feared the worst. You could sever the muscles of a man's back with the whip. He had learned that at the tender age of six. He had felt the bite of the weapon and handled it's teeth.

"_I can't Damian, think of the casualties. If we go after him Ra's will set off a series of explosives in the most heavily populated sectors of currently unknown cities. In unknown countries.'We don't have enough information."_

By the time he had realized that the wounds were superficial, Damian's vision had blacked out. The corpses that littered the passageways were a testament to his rage. His anger.

"_Then make them known." Damian pleaded. "Find them, disarm them and bring him back."_

"_It's more complicated than that Damian."_

"It really wasn't father." he murmured into soft hair, glad that Tim had remained unconscious for the most part.

If you cut off a Demon's Head, Damian thought, then the body was yours to take. And he had taken it all because if he couldn't save Tim as Damian Wayne.

As Robin.

As his father's heir,.

If he couldn't save him as Damian Wayne then he would save him as his grandfather's heir, as Damian Al Ghul.

A later Sequel: What is Easy

"Damian." Batman, Bruce spoke. Father spoke.

Once upon a time, Damian had tried to listen, but that was once upon a time. Dark blue eye's gaze at the elder man. Damian waited. He had time.

"You need to stop this. You can't be the head of a criminal organization."

There it was, the demand. "Father." Damian drawled. "You will find that I _am_ the head of a criminal organization."

"Damian-" Bruce started.

"No. No, you do not get to speak father. Do you have any idea how long Grandfather had your son, your third born? Six months fa- Bruce. Six months you let your son rot. For once you couldn't outsmart or out maneuver the enemy and you were presented with a choice. Tim, or a large amount of civilians, and when you realized you could do nothing, you gave up."

Bruce winced. "Tim wouldn't have wanted anyone to die because of him."

Damian sneered. "Tim is of the belief that everyone's life is more important than his, and that his life is an acceptable sacrifice for that of any other being. Did you teach him that Bruce? That in the end he was worth nothing more that the dirt you walk on?"

Bruce exhaled, weary and tired. "Tim has always been dedicated to the mission." Bruce paused and Damian wondered what he was remembering, what failure of his made him take pause. " You can't keep him Damian."

Damian laughed, a sharp mocking sound. "Oh. _I_ can't keep him? I suppose grandfather could keep him all he wished? I think you'll find, Bruce, that I can do _whatever_ I like."

Bruce placed a hand on Damian's shoulder. "You are my son, you are both my sons. Walk away from this Damian, come home, before I have to do something drastic."

Damian picked the hand of his shoulder and flung it off. "Something drastic, like reveal to entire world that Bruce Wayne is Batman?"

Bruce's eyes widened as he realized that Damian was entirely serious. He would do exactly as he said. He wondered if any part of his youngest child would feel remorse.

"Leave Bruce, you seem to have a great amount of experience with it."

Damian walked into the shadows and disappeared. Bruce wondered where he had gone wrong. Four sons. He had four sons. The first of them he had fired, the second had died, the third was left in the hands of a madman and the last had become a greater evil than Ra's had ever aspired to be.

…

Every part of him is beaten and sore. His flesh is on fire and if he tries he can ignore the pain between his legs. He has been far too tired to try for a long time now. He is connected to the pain, to his body, he has never been more present in his own skin than now.

This is Timothy Drake Wayne dying.

This is how it feels to be Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne dying.

He has never worn his own skin so fully before. Always he has carried the weight of Robin and little brother and son. He has been the perfect student the dorky friend the team leader, but here on the cold floor of his cell. He is Tim, just Tim and he knows with a starling kind of clarity that if he does not save himself he will die.

Briefly he entertains the though of being saved, of Bruce or Dick or Kon bursting through the doors, charging in like the heroes in Alfred's romance novels, tucked behind the third shelf to the back on the right side of the library. Briefly he entertains what it would be like for someone to put him first, before the mission, before the world, to just put him first and he knows that no one ever will.

He is the sacrifice, the lamb send to slaughter and no one will save him. They will mourn, they will cry but they will not make the choice. They will not put his life before that of millions of civilians. He is a casualty of the mission. He will be mourned. He will be remembered.

He doesn't want anyone to die for him, has never wanted that. In most ways he accepts his role. He will be here until he dies, a plaything for Ra's until the ancient gets bored or Tim dies. Whichever came first.

It is what he has come to expect. Everyone leaving him.

He has tried so hard to make himself useful, to be important, to mold himself so that maybe just maybe they wouldn't leave him alone. He has been discarded. He wonders if they'll stop trying once they realize what the stakes are.

He wonders if they know that he came willingly. Had taken one look at the proof and silently entered the car, swallowed the pill, falling unconscious quickly after. He wonders if they knew what had been done to him, what was still being done to him. He wonders if it matters.

He wonders if he ever mattered. To anyone. Really mattered.

The same answer comes up every time.

No.

He is…disposable. The disposable Robin, the replacement Robin, the temporary stop gap until someone better could do the job. His place was here now.

Tim closed his eyes. He would die here.

Continuation: What Brings Anger

When Damian opens the door he intends to make it quiet. Get in, get out. Remove Tim, kill grandfather. He is alone, he is not a Bat not now when he is risking so many lives for just one, just this perfect, wonderful solitary life. Not when he is willing and ready to rend flesh from bone. Not now.

He was going to be quiet, he was, he knows that he was but he can't help it. The body in front of him is so badly mauled. Bite marks litter a once pristine torso, lash marks cover the back. A part of him refuses to recognize the body as Tim, but he knows that scar, tucked right above his ankle bone, he knows the mark.

A would be mugger had taken a blind shot. The bullet had skimmed the side of Tim's foot. The scar was an inch long almost unnoticeable, but Damian had wrapped it. He had cleaned and bandaged the injured limb.

He had watched it heal.

He was going to be quiet. He was still going to be quiet, he was going to remove Tim, he was going to kill grandfather, only now he was going to make it _hurt_. Now he was going to inflict as much suffering as he could. Now Ra's would go out screaming.


	14. Cousins

Summary: Damian and Tim are cousins. Yufei, you know what you did Based on this picture and AU idea here.

Note: YUFEI

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

...

**Cousins**

Damian glares at his…"brothers."

"You are both morons. Neither of you will so much as breathe in Timothy's presence or I will end you."

Dick raises his hands in a gesture of peace, "Calm down lil D, we're not going to hurt your cousin. Right Jay?"

Damian's eyes widen, "Hurt? You speak of injuring him!" The younger one is alarmed, scanning the elder two for weapons.

Dick blinks, "That…wasn't what you were worried about?"

Damian splutters, "I was concerned that you would infect him with your stupidity, I see now that I have greater worries. You shall remain six feet away from him. At all times."

Dick wonders how that would work exactly. Jason munches on his chips, "So Bruce's nephew is coming to stay with us for a little while. Big deal kid. We've got better things to do than bother another brat."

Robin scowls, "His name is Timothy, not that you are allowed to speak it and his thumb is worth an army of you Todd."

With that the youngest bird departs.

Dick blinks, "Has anyone ever told Damian that he's a little too…protective."

Jason looks at his elder brother, "If they did, do you really think they're still alive enough to tell you about it?"

The eldest Robin sighs, "Probably not."

…

Bruce looks at his eldest, "I want you two to be on your best behavior. We are having a guest in the manor, my nephew, and if you do anything to upset him I will put you through such-," He pauses and considers his words, "-_training _that you will regret the day you were born. Timothy was a sickly child you will be _careful _with him. You will not provoke him, bother him and, or annoy him. Is that understood?"

Jason snorts, "I'm not feeling the love B, I'm really not."

"I love you, both of you." The words are stiff and Damian frowns until Bruce amends, "_All_ of you, however, you are not the most well behaved nor easy to get along with."

"What's that supposed to mean." Jason cries out, grimacing as Dick's elbow makes contact with the soft parts of his stomach.

"It means, " Damian starts, "That you are a hooligan and Grayson is not far behind that, then again one cannot expect decorum from one raised in a circus."

Dick makes a noise of protest and Bruce massages his forehead. He can not honestly refuse to take in Timothy, no matter how much he wants to. He had placed Damian in his sisters house far too often to turn around and tell her he had no room in his mansion for a well behaved teenaged boy. She would skin him alive.

She would do worse than that. Janet was always so vindictive. He thinks Damian may have inherited that from her. Talia was always so much…nicer.

It's not even that he doesn't adore his nephew, it's just -

Looking up he sees Jason kicking at Dick's face, Damian biting Jason's arm.

-that he's not sure having him here is such a good idea.

…

They expect a lot from Bruce's nephew, Damian's "Timothy" who according to the younger boy turned water into wine and walked on water and shot unicorns from his ass every time he took a dump.

Then they see Brucie's smile melt of his face with a single comment and they're not sure what to think.

"My apologies." Tim states to them before turning to face his uncle, "You look like an imbecile and if you do not stop smiling like that I will be forced to release certain adolescent photos to the press."

Bruce remembers those photos. He had been painting his nails in boredom. Naked. While sitting in the garden. In his defense he had been drunk at the time. Janet had a camera and she hoarded those picture like a very dangerous dragon. Technically they weren't embarrassing so much as he didn't want to deal with the shit storm they would stir up.

The smile slips into something warmer, more real and Tim nods in crisp approval assessing each inch of the older man. Bruce tries to not laugh.

Moving towards the slighter figure he lifts him with a soft hug, "It's good to have you here Tim."

Setting him down he turns them towards the others, "These are Dick and Jason, my sons and you already know Damian."

Damian who had placed himself in front of the other two like a human shield. A very angry human shield.

"Do they bite?" Tim asks his younger brother, cousin really but they had been raised together for so long that both definitions were acceptable.

"No, I simply do not wish for you to associate together."

Looking at the two older figures Tim holds out his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Dick greets him first, his fingers large and warm. Calloused. Exactly as Tim would expect from the first Robin. Jason greets him next, his hands equally massive. If Tim were the jealous sort he would bemoan his lack of size, but he's seen his mother with her long thin nails and her sharp smiles. She's the most dangerous person in the world and she is most certainly anything but large. Tall but not terribly so and thin.

She's the one who makes Batman cringe, the elder sister of Bruce Wayne. Tim is her child and she would never raise an idiot. It's almost funny how his uncle thinks he doesn't know. Almost.

Not really.

It's _hilarious. _

Bruce looks at familiar blue eyes the same shade as his, as his sisters and he feels..better, "I hope you have a good stay."

"I'm sure I will."

…

Tim looks down at his brother, who was watching his shoes, "Come on Dami you don't have to escort me to school."

Damian scoffs, "It's Gotham Timothy! You shall not walk alone."

Tim pointedly does not mention that he has been walking alone for a very long time but he refrains from it. He also does not point out that he's not actually walking. That Alfred is driving him to school.

Shrugging his shoulder moves to the front door intercepted by the smaller one who holds the entrance open for him to pass through.

…

"I must show you around Gotham Timothy. It is customary to show guests the attractions of ones home." Damian insists.

Tim blinks and looks up from his seat, mostly because he'd been the one to show Damian Gotham when the younger boy was fresh off a plane, coming straight from the middle east to a western land. He had been the one to take him to all major landmarks and explain the school system.

"Okay." He replies. He knows his little cousin and if Damian wanted to take him to a museum or two it wouldn't be the worst thing.

Damian smirks, pleased with himself.

"I want to go the museum." Tim explains as he places his book back on his nightstand.

"Which one?" Damian questions.

Tim fishes his camera from the brown messenger back resting by the foot of his bed and places the strap around his neck moving with fluid economy. "All of them." He clarifies.

"Very well." The younger one answers marking a mental list of all major and some minor places that would interest Timothy. Their trip would be good.

It would be relaxing, far more so than spending the weekend with his "teammates"

…

It had been a slow irritation building from the moment Damian caught sight of the familiar black and red of the s-shield, the blonde of Cassie hair and _Bart._ No one could miss Bart, not when he was vibrating behind them, running around and changing his position every three seconds.

It was giving him a headache. Glowering at his associates he rushes Tim though the exhibit, hands pushing at the small of the elder ones back. Not enough force to hurt him, or bruise but enough to make a difference even with the elder digging in his heels.

"These are birds, they have feathers and they fly. They lay eggs. That is all. We can leave now."

Tim looks up at the animals suspended from then ceiling, "Those are not just any birds, those are preserved specimens of the avian species, they managed to get at least fifty different variations of crow, if you look closely the murder that appears to be made up of the same bird is really-"

"Yes, yes, birds are wonderful. We need to go now." Damian growls out, leading the elder one through the exit, Tim's head craning back to look at the winged carrions.

As they leave Damian can hear a very familiar, "Oops.", the same noise that always came from Bart when the elder teen made a horrible mistake. The crows his cousin was admiring fall to the ground, a guilty speedster in the midst of the mess.

"Lets get ice cream?" Damian pleads, "There is a park nearby."

…

They never get the ice cream the sight of the intruders hiding behind a tree like three poorly concealed squirrels ruining the appetite of the younger one, and Damian is going to _kill_ them when he gets the chance. When he doesn't have to be a semi-normal child for his cousin.

Growling he grasps Tim's wrists, "This is ridiculous we're going home now." He's mad enough to get into a fight in public and if they don't get out of here he's going to.

All his life Tim had been private. He had been..his. He wasn't required to share Tim's time nor his attention and the idea of someone making him do so made him want to hurt something, Something with a first name that started with K and rhymed with Ron. Something big and dumb as a brick.

He didn't want to introduce Timothy to his teammates and no one could make him.

"There's still one more museum you promised to show me." Tim counters, refusing to move as the younger one pushes at him, their spectators watching from their place in the shade.

It's like they didn't know the meaning of subtle.

"Tim." Damian pleads, begs almost, alternating between trying to set the tree his team hid behind on fire with eyes and looking at Tim like a starved kitten which didn't really work for him. He looked more like an angry lion but it was the effort that counted or something like that.

Probably not.

Tim can see their guests from the corner of his eye, the reason his little cousin seems so determined to hurry him. In truth he's exasperated, their day one rush to another, hurrying from place to place. He hasn't even had a chance to take a few pictures, Damian insisting they leave every time they reach a destination.

He wants to sit down on the grass and refuse to move, but he won't do that to the younger boy, he won't force his hand.

Sighing he looks at the sky. It's not even getting dark out, "Home it is then." Stepping away from the hands pushing his back he starts on the walk to Wayne Manor.

..

"I- I don't want to share you." Damian whispers into Tim's belly as they lay down on the couch to watch a movie.

Tim's hands still at the childish petulant tone, "It's not fair." Damian continues, "I shouldn't have to share you, you're my cousin, I had you first."

The elder one pats him on the head gently, "Who would you have to share me with?" He asks.

"People." Damian sulks, pressing closer to the soft flesh covered by Tim's shirt, the curve of his belly.

Tim hums, "Dick? Jason?" He knows about the Titans, he's seen them before and how could he not recognize Damian in all his glory dressed in green and red. The shoes gave it away. The laced up boots, the way he moved, shoulders back.

Most of all it was the voice. It wasn't the content that he spoke of or even the sound although Robin and Damian made the same noises, it was the speech patterns themselves. The vocabulary and the way it was put together, the lack of contractions. The preciseness, the propriety.

Tim knew about the Titans, saw them whenever he went out, hiding horribly, bright splotches in the dark of the city, did no one teach them to hide? Did they never find it necessary?

He pauses as he tried to answer Damian, "Regardless if I meet new people or not, no one will take me from you. They can not erase the time we have known each other and our shared experiences. You are my little brother. You shall always be my little brother."

He can feel Damian smile.

…

Tim walks into the house silent as always. He has returned from school at his usual time, he has opened the door, one foot on the tiled entranceway when Damian finally turns his head, the greeting the younger one wanted to say is choked by panic. He drops the pencil he had been using a few moment, a few seconds ago, the thin piece of wood falls on the floor with a clatter that seams far too loud for such a small object.

The elder boy has a mottled bruise on the side of his face, fresh and sore it stains lily white skin blue, yellowing around the edges.

This has never happened before and he does not know what to do.

Standing to his feet the younger boy rushes towards his cousin, his Timothy, "What -" He cuts himself off pulling as gently as he can at the sides of the elder one's shirt. He needs to get a better look at the injury.

This was, this wasn't. These things weren't supposed to happen to Timothy. These were the things that happened to father and sometimes mother and he at least knew that whoever caused them would be hanged or placed in a very small cell and-

What was he supposed to do?

"Who did this?" He demands, face a mask of worry, his fingertips gentle against the wound.

Tim grasps the smaller ones wrist gently and looks down with a soft smile, "It's nothing at all to concern yourself with. I'm fine and it looks a lot worse than it is."

The expression on Damian's face is murderous so Tim continues speaking, "A stray tennis ball hit me in the face. It was an accident Dami, not intentional at all."

This stems the slew of assumptions the younger one had made, the griping fear that someone was hurting his cousin because they could, because they were bigger and heavier. Because they were too stupid to realize the consequences.

The younger one nods but remains unsatisfied. He does not know what he can do with his still growing limbs and his small hands against a civilian. He is trained but he does not think his father would allow him to sneak into the house of a normal citizen and threaten them. He is not even Robin. Yet.

"When I am older." He begins, "I will protect you from any harm." And he will. It is a promise, one he fully intents to keep.

Tim's eyes are soft as he replies, pressing a kiss to the younger one's forehead, "I know you will, little knight."The words warm something inside him, a soft blush covers his face. It feels..nice. To be loved. To be believed in.

When he is older and taller he will not allow such things to happen. Regardless of the cause. He will not allow Timothy to be hurt again.

Dragging the elder to the kitchen he stands on a chair to remove the peas from the freezer. Tim watches from his assigned seat.

He could tell the younger one that the peas won't do much good, that his face hasn't swollen at all. Instead he sits patiently as his little cousin presses the vegetables to his cheek. He allows the younger to lead him to the living room couch and snuggle into his chest.

"I'll be fine." he reassures.

Damian snorts, "You are injured. That is not fine."

Tim tightens his grip, "Bruises fade."

"You shouldn't have them in the first place." The younger one counters.

Tim hums and they both fall slowly into sleep, lulled by the presence of another living being beside them.

…

Janet looks down at her children, her son curled around her dear nephew. Both were situated on the couch like two small and incredibly adorable kittens. She wonders if she and Bruce had ever been like this then discards the thought. At their age she would have sooner clawed out his eyes then touch him.

"Children." She begins, "Today we are going to the zoo." Gotham zoo was in truth a filthy place, that was often overstuffed and far too hot. To counteract this she had taken her Wednesday off and called both the children in sick. Weekends were such horrible time for outings. So many…people..everywhere. It was disgusting.

Tim opens his eyes and looks up at his mother nodding to show his understanding. Damian does the same.

…

"What do you mean he can't ride the giraffe?" She asks, her tone frost filled and uncompromising. It sounds like a threat. Mostly because it is.

"W-well ma'am -"

"No. Bring us a harness of some sort. Now." Janet demands.

"Yes ma'am."

Tim and Damian watch her calmly from their seat on one of the benches, eating their ice cream in peace.

Huffing she turns to them, "Honestly, it's like have they have the collective intelligence of a walnut. Tt." She is of course referring to the zookeepers.

…

"Tt." Janet sounds as she watches her brother climb on top of the fridge, "You are such an idiot."

Bruce looks down at his sister and glares, "At least I'm not boring."

Janet sniffs distastefully as a six year old can, "Darling, I'm not boring, I just don't get caught."

"Young master!" Alfred exclaims as he walks in, picking Bruce up off his perch with ease, "You mustn't climb on top of the freezer. Trees are for climbing, not furniture."

Blushing at the scolding Bruce almost misses his sisters smug little face. Almost.

..

Janet watches a young man loose control of his children, his son screaming at the top of his lungs for more chocolate, "Tt." she sounds out in disapproval. Her children watch her as they politely eat their food.

…

"Tt. It's not like you could do better." Damian sneers at Jason, and Bruce freezes at the sound. He justs stops his fingers hovering mid type.

"What did you say?" He asks, his voice stilted, his memories stuck on his elder sister, her voice looping. All he can hear is. Tt. Tt.

_"Tt. You are such an idiot."_

Damian turns to his father and repeats, "It's not like you could do better."

"No." Bruce shakes his head, "The first part, the sound." Damian raises and eyebrow but complies none the less, "Tt."

Well shit. Bruce thinks. His inner Alfred disapproves of the swearing.

"Your aunt makes the same noise." He comments as lightly as he can.

"I am aware." Damian counters, "Is that all?"

The Bat nods, dazed at this new development, and turns back to his work staring blankly at the screen.

..

Dick smiles widely as he meets Janet for the first time, Mrs. Drake his mind corrects. He almost feels like she's going to rip is throat out.

"Tt. You look like and idiot. Stop it." She commands.

Oh. Oh. That's where they get it from, not only Damian because that sound, that was all Damian but the words, those were Tim.

His grin widens.

…

Janet smirked as she looked at her brother. Her itty bitt, widdle brother who was the size of a moose. No matter.

Sipping her teacup she sets it down, "You've gotten fat." Its as good a way at any to start a conversation. One of her personal favorites really.

Bruce's children freeze in the background while Tim and Damian who may as well be hers go about their business.

"If you insist. It is interesting as always to see you Janet." _Go die in a fire. _

"Oh little brother. It really is." _You first. _

"How have you been?" _Married with children like a good little wife? Really? Don't you have babies to steal candy from?_

"Wonderful." She replies, " I've managed to deal with the Korean situation on behalf of Wayne Corp. The one where you were banned from the country and blacklisted." _I still control half of the family company you whiny little bitch_.

"Thank you for that. My other interests tend to get in the way." _I'm the Goddamned Batman. _

Janet raises and eyebrows, "I do hope that you still have time for the children you take care of. I mean, not Damian of course, but the other ones, Nick and Mason was it?" _You are a failure as a father. _

Bruce nods, "Dick and Jason."

"Close enough." Janet deflects airily.

"I have plenty of time for my children. Do you? I know that you're just so..busy all the time." _When we were five and you took care of a fish the fish died. Who let you have children?_

Janet takes another sip of her tea, "Timothy is wonderful, an honor to parent. Did you know that if he wished to he could have graduated from university at the age of twelve."

Bruce sips his own tea. He is well aware of his nephews intelligence, "Jason and Dick were at the top of their classes and of course they are both rather physically inclined."

"Ah." Janet sounds, "How wonderful."

Tim knows that look on his mothers face and he fears it. Its the, 'I will rip your heart out and eat it face' .This isn't going to go well.

Smoothing out the tablecloth with her fingers she looks her brother dead on, "If you take such good care of your children then why did one of them end up dead for a period of time? Beaten with a crowbar, I mean, really Bruce?"

Bruce isn't even going to ask how she knows, instead he swallows the lump in his throat and glowers at her soundlessly.

His sister stands, "Well then. It's been lovely to see you but I'm afraid I must go. Do understand if Timothy ends up dead that I will hunt you down and gut you like a dog. Brother or not."

Turning to hug her son goodbye she presses a kiss to his cheek, "I know you'll be good darling, I expect to hear no complaints. You may do whatever it is you wish to do otherwise." _Don't get caught._

Tim nods and replies, "I am always well behaved."

She kisses Damian next, "Take care of your cousin little one, he's too nice, and if you kill anyone come to me first, not your father. He's an idiot."

"Yes Auntie." Damian agrees.

Dick and Jason remain choking in their seats.

"I should have left him with Talia." Bruce groans and Janet cocks her head towards her younger brother, "Really Brucie he would have ended up so much..weaker."

Bruce swears there's just something in the Wayne blood. Something that leads grown men to dress up as Bats and women to grow up to be…Janet.

…

Damian walks into the house he grew up in tired and slightly angry. Being Robin was exhausting. Spotting Timothy on the couch he toes off his shoes and drops his school bag to the floor.

Without a word he walks to the elder and flops on top of him. He just falls onto the taller body and tucks his head under Tim's chin, his hand falling off the side of the couch without a word. He can feel the slender fingers that run up and down his back through the thick material of his hoodie.

They ground him. Give him something to focus on other than the buzzing in his head.

"Mrrrmf." He grumbles into the soft skin of Tim's neck. Many a night he has done this, slipped into this position.

Tim hums in response, a smile on his face, "Is this better little knight?"

Damian nods and snuggles deeper. For someone who was quite thin his cousin remained incredibly comfortable. It never ceased to be surprising Maybe it was because at times Tim gave off heat like a furnace.

"M'just tired." Damian slurs. It is a testament to how fatigued he is.

"Then sleep." Tim replies.

Blearily the younger one opens his eyes, "Don, you need t'do things?"

He can feel the laugh in Tim's chest rumbling through his body. It's a small movement. A wave in the ocean. "Nothing better than this." It sounds true.

Melting impossibly further into the elder Damian allows himself to sleep. To rest, uncaring and protected. There are no birds haunting this door, no Bats, no failed expectations. He is loved. He is welcome. Always.

This has been made abundantly clear. This is his place. The manor seems so cold without Tim. There were more bodies there, it was just…different.

He falls asleep with love in his stomach, warmth and softness spreading through his veins.

Tim hums gently as he too nods off, one hand at the edge of the couch, the other holding the smaller body to his.

This is his place.

..

Damian wakes up well rested and comfortable, "Thank you." He murmurers into the throat beneath him. He wakes to the sound of the door opening.

"Hey, is anyone home? I'm just looking for Damian and Bruce gave me the key?" Dicks voice in unsure.

Tim snorts lightly. It's quite delicate for a snort, "Stop yelling." He commands drawing the Dick's eyes to the pair snuggled on the couch.

The eldest Robin grins when he sees them, "Well aren't you comfortable?" He drawls it out, leaning in the side of the wall looking down at the two. He's never seen Damian like this before.

"Touch me and I'll break your face." Damian replies, his body still a puddle over Tim, his eyes closed.

Raising his hands in surrender Dick leaves them be, scuttling out of the house, "I'll see you tomorrow lil D. You can bring Timmy if you want."

Shutting the door behind him Dick drives off. It looked like the demon had a soft spot after all.

…

_This is how they die. This is how they live. _

They bury their parents on a rainy day, Alfred holding an umbrella above the youngest of the Wayne's. Janet is almost serene and Bruce is a mess of tears and clenched fists.

The elder holds the younger to her chest and waits. Everything always ends, even tears. Even people. Waiting for it to end was the hard part, so she holds onto her little brother, the last family she has, and isn't that something? The last of the Wayne's.

She holds onto him and she waits.

…

Janet walked into Bruce's room the night before he leaves. "I understand you are leaving." She announces, her black hair arranged in a loose chignon her eyes the same shade as his only colder.

"Every three months you will send me some form of contact. If I don't get it, I will find you." She leaves a cellphone by his dresser.

He watches the door shut behind her and for once he is thankful that his sister was as smart, as capable as she was. Just like him.

…

"I'm getting married." She states. Calmly, like her marriage hadn't come from nowhere.

Bruce looks down at his tea. Alfred's influence, "Do you love him." He asks. He thinks he already knows the answer. His sister has only loved four things in her life and they buried two of them. All that's left is an empty house. All that's left is him and Alfred.

"No."

"Will you?"

Janet shakes her head, "No."

The why hangs in the air.

"I'll love my son." Is what she answers.

Bruce does not ask why she doesn't adopt, he does not ask about donors or one night stands. He does not ask how she knows she'll have a boy. He has long since understood that his sister lives her life like a chess game. Every piece serves a purpose and every move has a meaning.

To her, this is the only acceptable option.

…

A pile of supplies. Medical and nonperishable appear in the foyer. Sent by his sister with no note, no reason.

He has Alfred bring them to the cave.

..

"Do you love me?" He asks once when he's twelve and needy and the night is far too cold. His sister looks down on him thin and pale just like her son although he doesn't know this yet.

"Yes. More than I want to." She answers.

This is truth.

Bruce blinks, "How can you love too much?" It's never seemed like something to measure. Janet smiles. It's not an expression of happiness.

"You know how you felt when mother and father died."

Bruce nods into her nightgown, "That's how much I love you." He clings to her and thinks of love as terrible.

"You won't lose me." He insists. He comforts.

"Darling boy, you'll break my heart."

Years later he remembers that night and he asks, "Did you know?" and she'll answer -

"Know what?" As innocently as she can and he'll hear it. He'll know that the real answer was -

_Yes._

…

Janet pokes her stomach with one well manicured finger. It was a boy just like she always knew it would be.

Grinning she thinks. Soon.

…

Birth is hell and she watches the doctors move around her with distaste. They worry about her composure and her silence. Finally she reduces two of the nurses to tears and leaves. She will not do this here. She doesn't want to.

Reaching her home she locks the bathroom door behind her, gets in the tub and waits.

…

Her son is perfect. His face is not wrinkled or ugly like all other newborns she has had the…pleasure..to see. He is pale and blue eyed, the shade too bright to match hers. The blue of a newborn. Eventually they will darken.

He is small and pale. He is underweight.

He is perfect and his name is Timothy.

Smiling down at him she listens to his breathing, "You are the fifth thing I have even loved." She whispers it into the wispy black hair that sprouts from his head. She whispers it like a secret. Something to be kept quiet.

She whispers it like an order and rocks her son back and forth his tiny mewls the soundtrack to her life.

…

He is three years old looking up at his mother. She is the most beautiful thing he's even known. He is three years old and looking at the man he calls father. The silly rolly polly man who talks like an idiot. Mother says he must humor him. He does not care for the clown man but he will do as she has told him to.

He watches the mans watery eyes and tilts his head. Like he's been taught to, like he's observed. He has picked up far too much from his mother. Far, far too much.

He feels nothing for the man, but he lets him hold him none the less. All the while he he counts the moments before he is set back on the ground. He liked it better there.

..

Janet plops her son onto her lap, her precious, brilliant darling, "Your Uncle is sending his son to live with us. He is..not horrible."

Tim leans into her and nods. He knows his uncle. He knows Batman and Robin and Brucie. He knows Bruce Wayne. He has learned too much from his mother. He does not think it's a bad thing. Neither does she.

…

Damian is large for his age but tiny none the less. He is olive skinned and blue eyed. He is well articulated and scared out of his mind.

He is insecure and he feels as though his father has turned him away. Has placed him in another home like one would a pet or a toy. He is neither and he is angry.

Janet sneers, "Stop moping. Your father loves you. He loves you so much it makes him stupid. He's sending you to me to keep you safe."

Damian snaps to attention and scowls, "I am aware of that." He is not.

Janet raises an eyebrow and kneels down. She hates getting her skirt dirty but if she allows her brother to parent his son the idiot is going to ruin a perfectly good child, "Your father loves you. My brother loves you. This is not a rejection. You are loved, don't make me repeat myself."

Damian nods. He does not know this woman, his Aunt. He does not know if she is the type to lie. She does not seem like it.

A boy older than him moves towards him, "Welcome home." He greets. He looks at the two of them. A matched set. Blue eyes, black hair, white skin. They look close. They look like mother and son. They look like a picture of a mother and son, he corrects as he counts the similarities between the two.

Twenty three are physical, and six are behavioral. He suspects there are more.

…

Damian follows his cousin for the first few days.

This is what he learns.

Timothy and Auntie are his family. Jack is not, but he must be treated as family when he is in their presence. He is not often in their presence, mooning over some archeological dig or another.

Janet deals with the family company and minds the children.

He is allowed to do whatever he likes as long as any inappropriate behavior is not noticed. Auntie notices everything, but she's not the one he has to hide from.

..

"Do you love me?" He asks Timothy and his Aunt's eyes widen. His cousin looks at him and answers without intonation, without care, "Yes."

His aunt laughs from her desk, "Your father asked me the same thing once?" She adds.

Damian inclines his body towards her, "What did you tell him?"

Janet smiles, a small thin quirk of her lips, "Yes."

Auntie doesn't lie. Neither does Timothy.

"I love you too." He reciprocates because. He does.

…

Janet down at her child, small beautiful Timothy.

"For a moment I thought you would make the poor man cry." He says in relation to her conversation with his uncle, her brother.

"Tt. It would not surprise me if he did. He was such a whiny brat when we were young. Come to think of it he still is."

Tim leans closer to her and she to him.

Damian comes towards them and stands by his cousin. They are family.

…

Damian walks into the shop hand in hand with his elder cousin. Tim had insisted that a new jacket would be necessary and that he would be the one to pick it out.

Looking around nothing catches his eye but a spot of yellow. A black jacket with two long thin lines of ochre striping the sleeves. It is..acceptable.

Tim smiles softly as he removes the coat from the hanger picking out the smallest size and draping it over the younger one's shoulder. Damian pushes his hands through the sleeves his fingertips still covered by the leather. The bottom of the material reaches mid thigh. He looks like a child wearing his fathers clothes.

He can feel Tim grasping his hands as his gaze remains firmly on the floor. The elder sits on one of the cushions, his head level with Damian's. Slowly he zips the coat all the way to younger ones neck. It smells like unworn leather.

"It's a little big." Timothy concedes, playing with the collar, and Damian already knew this so -

"But you grow up fast."

Looking up for a second he can see the soft expression on Timothy's face. The implication. Y_ou like this so we're getting it._

"You don't have to Timothy." He states. He feels that he should.

The elder presses a kiss to his forehead and stands his hand tugging Damian to the register.

…

Slipping on a familiar jacket Damian notes the way it stretches over his shoulders the way his hands fit through the sleeves.

He looks like a person, someone in a jacket. His jacket. Not anyone else's. Not a little boy playing dress up.

Timothy had been right. He had grown into it rather quickly.

Grasping the zipper he tugs it all the way to his neck and then unzips it fully letting the white of his t-shirt show through. Just like the first time he had ever worn the coat. Just like every time after.

"Damian." Tim calls out, "Are you coming."

"Just a moment." He calls back.

…

Dick doesn't mean to do it, honestly he had tripped. Well it was more like Jason pushed him while he was carrying a knife.

To be fair the knife had been evidence and Damian had dodged, he had gotten out of the way just in time to avoid a serious injury. His coat on the other hand had not been as lucky.

The thick black leather had been torn, a gash two inches from where the younger one's spine had been.

The look on Damian's face would have skinned a cat as he calmly took off his coat and inspected the back.

Dick gulped as did Jason.

Snarling the youngest bird clutched the leather in his hands and walked away as though it physically hurt him to do so.

"Damian, Damian." Dick called out, "I'm really sorry.. we can get a new one." He offers which had probably been the very worst thing to say. This he finds out approximately two seconds after the words leave his mouth and Damian lunges at his throat.

…

Dick nursed the bruise on his eyes, the swelling just going down when the doorbell rang. Groaning he walked to the entrance and was promptly barreled over by a slender figure holding a garment bag over one arm.

Ignoring the older boy Tim simply made his way to Damian's room.

Damian who was lying prone on his bed fingering what was left of his jacket. "Go away." He snarled as his door swung open.

"Well that was rude." Tim drawled out and the younger one shot out of the bed quickly apologizing, "I believed you to be someone else, I am sorry to have yelled at you. I did not mean to."

Tim smiles and pulls something from the garment back causing the younger ones eyes widen, "I had been saving this one for your birthday." Tim begins, "But I think you might want it now."

The jacket is identical to his own, only bigger.

"I noticed that you had almost outgrown the old one." Tim continues setting the new coat over his little cousins shoulders as he done so long ago with the old.

"Thank you." Damian croaks out trying to deal with the lump in the throat. He can feel it, the inner lining same as the old, the smell of new unworn leather filling his nose.

Pushing his hands through the sleeves they are once again too short.

Tim reaches for the zipper and closes it, "I know it's a little big." He repeats, and Damian mouths the next words right along with the elder, "But you grow up fast."

Pulling Damian into a hug Tim hums, "Better now?"

"Always." He replies.

…

Tim wakes up one morning and the room feels like it's spinning underneath him, the sunlight pouring through the window hurts his eyes, and his body is aching.

He wakes up and he takes a deep breath. Which was a horrible idea because immediately afterwards he starts to cough. Loud angry sounds that leave him breathless and sore.

Carefully he makes a list of all the things he needs to do. He needs to get himself to the bathroom to wash off the sweat that accumulated in his sleep. Then he'll have to strip his bedsheets and make something to eat. The nausea in his stomach says otherwise so maybe he'll try for food later but the first thing he needs to do is get out of bed.

Taking another breath he wobbles into a seated position. He can do this. He knows he can, all he has to do is stand.

All he has to do -

Groaning he falls back onto his bed. Maybe he'll try later. Closing his eyes he tries to go back to sleep.

…

This is how Damian finds him, passed out on his bed, running a fever, drenched in cold sweat.

"Timothy, Tim." he calls out in a panic, shaking the elder one's shoulder.

Blearily Tim opens his eyes, "Dami?" He slurs out, his voice thick with sleep and illness.

Huffing Damian adjusts the bed sheet, "You are not well. We shall go to the hospital at once." Eyeing Tim's flushed face, his trembling limbs he adds, "Perhaps we will need a stretcher."

Tim shakes his head, fully aware that his cousin will call the hospital if he burrow himself into the covers like he wants to, "It's just a cold. I can sleep it off." He deflects.

Damian frowns but agrees. Tim should have known his acquiescence was far too easy. Innocently enough the younger boy looks up at him and insists, "If we are not getting professional help then you must let me aid you."

Tim nods in agreement and tries not to throw up.

Two hours later he's covered in what feels like every blanket they own, a hot water bottle on his head and more tucked under the covers. He feels like he's laying in an oven.

Damian re-enters the room with large metal pot in his hands, said appendages are covered in cooking mitts. This does not look good. He's kicking another blanket forward with his feet and Tim did not know they owned this many covers. At this point he's fairly sure his little cousin is stealing the neighbors sheets which is a very inappropriate use of vigilante training.

Mother would approve.

He needs to say something before his dear sweet little cousin cooks him alive, "Dami," He calls out, " It's just a cold. I'm not going to die from it, but if you keep covering me with blankets I'm going to suffocate."

"Fine." The younger one scowls, "No more blankets but you should still eat some soup." With that he kicks the newest cover underneath the bed and presents the pot to the elder.

The Pot.

As in.

The Full Pot of soup. As in. Not a bowl or an serving that a normal human being would eat. He wants to find the person who taught Damian about portion sizes and shoot them in the head.

"Is that a full pot?" He asks, half bemused and half praying that he was hallucinating large batches of soup the size of his head. Taking another look at the thing he amends his pervious thought, it was larger than his head.

"Am I supposed to eat all of that?" He questions, his stomach gurgling in protest. He hadn't even known the younger one could cook.

Damian nods and sets the pot on top of the oven gloves, picking up a spoon full of a yellowish liquid he blow on it gently before guiding it to the elder one's lips.

Tim smiles and bites back a laugh.

Despite the fact that he was boiling and the way his stomach rejected even the idea of soup it was..sweet, the way Damian was trying so hard to take care of him.

Eating the spoonful he notes the flavor. Bland, and watery, hopefully easy to digest. Pleased at the consumption of his food Damian pulls the spoon back and fills it yet again. They make it a quarter of the way through the pot before Tim finally throws up.

"Damian." Tim starts, "I need a bowl."

The younger one's face furrows in confusion, "Why?" He asks, even though he's already moving towards the bathroom.

"I'm about to throw up." Tim replies, his complexion slightly green.

Breaking out into a run, Damian makes it back just in time to prevent the ruin of the bedsheets. Or at least the first layer of bedsheets, there was a great deal of them on the bed.

Panicking Damian notes the amount regurgitated, the medical texts he had consulted had not warned him of this, "I should not have added as much chicken stock. I should have used a vegetable base but the traditional Western sick food is chicken soup. I researched this -" The rest of his sentence trails off into vicious swears in a variety of languages.

"I did not know you spoke French." Tim interrupts and Damian blushes, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "I do not." Damian replies, "I simply know certain unsavory words."

Nodding Tim looks at the mostly uneaten pot, "The soup was good." He offers.

Damian frowns, "The soup made you ill."

Tim shakes his head, "I was sick before the soup, at this point water would have had the same effect."

Biting his lip Damian worries, "Then what shall you eat? You must eat to get better."

Tim runs his hands over the softness of the bedsheets, " I should be better tomorrow and we can try eating later on, when my stomach settles."

Nodding Damian takes the pot from the nightstand and carries it out. Perhaps he will have better luck with crackers? Those had also been recommended in the texts. And more pillows. Yes. Tim needed more pillows.

Perhaps he could appropriate some from the neighbors. He's fairly sure his Aunt would approve and as long as he returned them once this illness was over, it would be as though nothing ever happened.

He can vaguely remember that the Carrows owned a set of soft blue throw pillows.

…

Janet herds Tim into a limo the younger boy did not know they owned one fine day. She does not say anything, nor does she pause as she places their suitcases into the trunk, slamming the door behind her as she leaves.

"Are we fleeing the country or is this a vacation?" Tim asks, mostly because the chances of this trip being one or the other are fifty fifty.

"Vacation." She replies.

He almost feels disappointed.

…

When they get to their destination Tim chooses to sip on some apple juice and roll down the tinted window by his side to watch the show.

Janet slams into the manor like a whirlwind and for a while all he can hear is the sound of grown men screaming. Some would call what she was about to do kidnapping. She liked to call it a surprise vacation.

"Oh Brucie, " she calls out, "We're going on vacation." It's not a question. It's a god damned statement. It's spoken in a low growl complete with crashing noises.

Damian leaves the manor first, calmly tucking his bags into the trunk only to cuddle up to his cousin. Alfred comes out second sliding into the drivers seat with ease, a chauffeurs cap on his head.

Something, or maybe someone makes the same sound one would imagine a goat would make if said goat was being raked over hot coals. None of them want to know.

Finally everyone manages to fit into the limo, more of less intact, Bruce coming last, dragged by his elder sister. One of his shirt sleeves is ripped, and by ripped the entire sleeve is missing, lost in what had sounded like a vicious brawl between siblings. Jason had what looks like a bite mark on his arm although Tim can't be certain. The larger one keeps the appendage cradled close to his chest. Dick looked like someone had eaten a kitten in front of him.

The men of the bat family, sans Damian, as a whole. looked dazed.

Janet tucks a strand of wayward hair behind her ear, "Gentlemen," She announces, "You have been drafted into a war."

"Vacation mother." Tim corrects, faintly amused, "They have been drafted into a vacation."

"Is there a difference?" She asks.

Tim tilts his head for a moment considering the people currently inside the car, "In this family? No." Hidden away behind the partition Alfred starts to drive.

…

Damian glowers at his siblings, crossing his arms, " I apologize in advance for these two idiots."

Tim smiles and pulls the younger boy closer to him, "Come on, they can't be that bad." This does not serve to calm the younger one down.

"They are dreadful."

Dick and Jason splutter, "Hey. " The first Robin defends, "We're right here." The second snarls.

Damian sneers, "That is precisely why I said it. Morons." He adds the insult like an afterthought.

Bruce chooses to make his opinion clear, before his sons start a fight in an enclosed space. "There are things I must deal with in Gotham."

Janet stares at her younger brother with darkened eyes, "You say that like I'm giving you an option. Silly Bruce. Choices are for people who aren't related to me."

The Bat would be more surprised at the things coming out of sisters mouth if she wasn't out of her mind. As it is, he has come to expect these things.

"I-" He starts.

"The only way out of this car is death or France . " She interrupts her face a blank mask.

Jason and Dick shudder.

…

Tim pulls Damian down so that his head rests on the elder one's lap, "Go to sleep little knight. We'll be elsewhere soon."

"Do you know where we're going?" The younger one asks.

"Not at all." The elder replies.

All the while Janet smiles at her little brother, her teeth bared.

…

They reach the airport in relative safety, all of the siblings both young and old refraining from severely maiming the other.

Janet turns to Bruce and pokes him in the face, "I called your little friends. You have a family emergency."

Bruce raises an eyebrow, "I do?"

Laughing she pokes him again, "I said you did. It's the same thing."

"Who did you call?" He's curious. They've been treading this line between what she did and did not have knowledge of for many years. Or least admitted knowledge of. He has no idea where his nephew stands.

"Clark Kent, the useless reporter and Diana who is slightly less useless although that doesn't say much."

Bruce does not mention that she has just called both Superman and Wonder Woman useless. He doesn't really want to know what she calls Batman.

…

Dick lunges at Damian, spreading sand everywhere as he moves.

"Get away from me you oaf." The younger one calls out, running to the safety of his cousin.

"Why won't you let me love you?" Dick cries out, fake sobbing into the sand. Jason ignores them all in favor of the bikini clad women populating the beach.

Damian groans in disgust, "Of course I love you you idiot. I have no choice."

Dick perks up at that, pulling his face from the sand, "What did you say?" He asks, breathless.

Damian pokes him with a toe, " I have no choice. You are family. I must have some modicum of care for you."

Dick coos, "No you said you love me. You love me, oh baby bird, come over here, we need to cuddle. This calls for cuddling "

Running back to Tim the younger one curls up beside him, burying his face in the slender chest still covered by a t-shirt.

Dick pauses above the two, takes one look at Tim's face and backs away, "You can't stay there forever." He calls out as he runs towards Jason jumping on the younger one's back like a very large, very exuberant monkey.

…

Three men walk up the two nestled on their beach blanket, an umbrella giving the resting pair shade.

"Hey beautiful, why don't you leave your little brother and come play some ball with us."

Damian's eyes snap open, the only part of that sentence that was acceptable was the part they referred to Timothy as his brother, "Shut your filthy mouth before I shut it for you." He snaps.

Idiot number one looks at the kid and laughs, "Aren't you cute, trying to protect your big brother. We just want to play with him kid, you know. Like you play with your little friends."

"Stop patronizing me or I'll break your face." He growls back.

Tim should probably do something. It's such a shame he doesn't want to.

Idiot two chimes in with some comment about Tim's mouth and what he could do with it and Damian goes off like an attack dog grabbing the volleyball from idiot ones hand and shaving it into idiot two's face, knocking the taller man unconscious.

"Leave us now." He growls. The third of the group runs off.

The last man left still looks ready to fight. Tim stands, brushing what little sand there was on his person off. Stepping out of the shade he almost looks angelic, his pale skin glowing in the warmth of the sun.

Sighing moves towards idiot one and pulls his arm behind his back in a hold that would potentially snap said appendage, "Could you please leave." He asks polite as ever.

Waiting for the man to nod Tim looks down at his cousin, "Thank you little knight, that was very sweet of you. Would you care for some ice cream?"

Damian nods and Tim releases the first idiot.

…

Dick bounced up and down on the tips of his feet, clapping his hands together in exaggerated glee, "Do you know where we are?" He exclaims to his families displeasure.

"Yes." Jason snaps out, "And_ you_ damn well better know since you're the one who dragged us here."

"Disneyland." The first Robin breathes out in a tone of voice reserved for epiphanies and heathen gods to whom one must sacrifice children.

Tim brushes past the elder, Damian in tow, both of them purchase their tickets and enter the park, leaving the rest of the group behind.

Janet watches them go with a small grin, she wants to be there when Damian finds out there are height requirements, but, well, you couldn't have everything. "Oh Bruce." she coos out, "Let's go shoot things."

…

Damian stops at one of the games, a ring toss. Paying the owner he picks up one rubber circle and throws it over the target. The next follows then the one after and so on until every circle was wrapped around a bottle that served as the target.

Pointing at a massive stuffed giraffe he demands, "That one." His face is devoid of emotion.

The man hands takes the toy off its perch with a hook. Upon closer inspection the face of the animal is angry. It will do.

Turning to the elder Damian presents him with the prize, "I have won this for you."

Tim takes the toy from the younger one with grave seriousness, "Thank you little knight. I shall treasure it."

The moment is ruined by a glimpse of Jason chasing Dick through the park with a stick of cotton candy.

"What are those two doing?" Damian mutters covering his eyes. He does not know these people.

Tim laughs and squeezes his toy, "Do you really want to know?"

Shaking his head the younger one starts walking to a different part of the park. Somewhere that didn't have the two idiots he was forced to acknowledge as brothers.

…

Janet cocks the gun, and Bruce steps back. The knowledge that the bullets were rubber did nothing to stop him from moving back.

The little cartoon ducks moved so sweetly to the sound of happy music, and then they didn't. One by one they fall down, their heads splintering. Every single time.

"You don't need to aim for the heads each time." He notes.

Janet sneers, "You don't need to be such a..whiny brat, but we both know how that worked out don't we?" He can tell that the pause was not a hesitation but a change in word choice. The original sentence was not deemed appropriate for all the children and families walking about the place.

"Do you even want a prize?" He asks. Part of him thinks she'll say yes, the other part -

"No, I want to shoot the ducks in their smiling little faces."

He takes another step back and grins. It's his turn next.

…

Damian glares up at the conductor, "What do you mean I can not go on this ride?"

The man in the ridiculous hat spreads his arms in supplication, "There are height requirements. You should try again in a few years when you're older, maybe taller."

Tim smiles, holds his toy and waits for the heads to roll.

Somewhere a man screams out, "Put on your fucking pants Dick." To which the other, nude figure replies, "Make me."

…

Assassins attack the manor, hordes of them pouring in through windows and doors as Dick rushes from the table only to freeze looking back at Tim, who was sitting beside Damian who was clutching a fork like it was a weapon, gritting his teeth in frustration. Jason's standing on one foot mid run and Bruce looks like he hasn't swallowed the coffee he just took a sip of. It makes for a very strange tableau. Tim wants to title it, Superheros Are Stupid, version 4566.

Tim also wants to smack them repeatedly. Instead he snorts, "Batman." He points at Bruce, "Nightwing, Red Hood." He waves his hand towards the eldest of his uncles adopted brood, poking Damian in the shoulder he finishes with, "Robin."

He waits for them to get over their shock. No wait, he's not that nice before ordering them to "Go."

Bruce spits out his coffee and Dicks face contorts.

"It was not my intent to mislead you-" Damian begins and Tim raises a hand to silence him, using that hand to lightly pat his cousins cheek.

"Little one, it's cute that you think you're actually capable of lying to me successfully. Try harder. Also, you're all stupid now will you take care of the ninja or will I have to?" He coos.

"We will discuss this later." Bruce insists as he defends their home, Dick leading Tim down to the cave, Robin scowling at his back, "Grayson, get your hand off my cousin."

Tim always knew this was how it would come out. Sighing he waits for them to meet him in the cave. He wonders how hard his mother would laugh at this new development.

…

"Tim." Bruce starts looking at his nephew with serious eyes, "How did you find out?"

The younger one raises an eyebrow, "I've always known."

"Did your mother tell you? Does Janet know?" She's never actually confirmed or denied it.

Tim's mother did in fact know she just didn't tell him, "I was three when I saw a picture of Batman in the paper, I asked mother why Uncle Bruce was in a costume and she laughed until she fell down. I must confess, at that moment I did not know why it was amusing."

Bruce nods, he's always suspected that his sister was aware of his..hobby. It was very much liker her to know, it was also like her to tell her son not to tell him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asks and Tim raises an eyebrow. Why didn't he say anything? Really Bruce. Really? That's what your going with.

"You fly around at night dressed as a giant bat. I know you fly around at knight dresses as a giant bat, who exactly in this situation has something they need to admit?"

At least his uncle can still blush. He wonders if a picture of this occurrence would count as a birthday present to his mother. She was so incredibly hard to shop for after all.


	15. Of Blood and Water

_Summary: Avatar. Tim is a waterbender, Damian is the avatar, a firebender, who goes to the north to learn waterbending from Tim._

_Authors Note: Ryssa this is your territory. I apologize for overstepping, but I got a prompt that wanted me to do an Avatar/Batman crossover…the prompt is below._

_**Prompt:**__ ACK I saw that you were taking prompts and freaked out a little. WOOT guh I just adore your stuff. Can I have an order of Avatar!Verse bat boys? We can have Damian (from fire nation) as the next avatar and Tim as the master of water bending. Dick has already taught Damian air bending and now Damian has to go to the north pole to visit the mysterious master of water bending!_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. _

**Blood and Water**

"Alright, lil D, this is the place. From here on you walk alone."

Damian shakes off the hand Dick placed on his shoulder. Staring at the entrance to a cave completely made of ice and hidden by the landscape he shudders imperceptibly.

Regardless of all the elements he is able to master, he is first and foremost a firebender. The youngest son of of King Bruce of the Fire Nation. His inner core rejects the snow ridden death trap in front of him.

His elder brother, adopted gypsy boy that he was, had taught him everything to with air and sky, but all throughout the lands a capable waterbender had been hard to find, to locate.

Ra's regime had almost wiped them from the face face of the earth and those who were able to bend knew but the basics, small things, their entire library of knowledge rebuilt from scratch.

He knew he was lucky that Grayson knew of a master so skilled, a hermit at that, but it did not change the fact that Damian would have to convince that master to teach him.

For the first time in his life, Damian was unsure of his actions.

It had all seemed so clear when they travelled north, the path he needed to take but staring at the mouth of cave he felt fear.

What would cause someone to abandon civilization, to seclude themselves in a hole, in the worst parts of the ice lands, lands so treacherous that the natives themselves had warned them off.

Steeling himself, the young prince entered.

He was not a coward.

…

The cave led far deeper than he had expected, a labyrinth of ice, each tunnel more confusing than last.

The pathways must have gone under the mountain or maybe several mountains. It was hard to tell from his place of the flame in Damian's hand flickered brightly. The only light in frozen catacombs.

"Hello." He calls out, "Is anyone here. I am searching for the water master who lives here."

Nothing but the dripping sound of melting ice reaches his ears.

He is lost in a deadly web, alone and with no way to find the exit.

He had tried to mark the places were he had been, leaving signals, but that had been futile in the end. The wall were living, closing off behind and in front of him as they pleased.

Making camp, he settles down for a long night. There is nothing he can do but get some rest. Grayson had assured him that the master of this place would not kill him. That he would returned unharmed, even if he was refused as a student.

He needed to believe that.

…

When he wakes, he is no longer alone. He is where he was the night before but sitting in front of him is a frail boy, older than him, surely, but younger than Dick. Or at least, he appeared to be.

Dressed in white the stranger sips from a cup, some substance that smells something like tea but not. No tea Damian had consumed carried that odor.

A small kettle is sitting on a small fire, ready for consumption.

A second cup is resting in front of Damian.

He knows a hint when he sees one. He will not be rude, not to the one who is surely the masters child or younger brother. Maybe an apprentice.

Pouring the hot liquid into the clay cup, he inspects the color. It is a muted shade of lilac. How strange.

Ignoring the feeling of unease he takes a sip, tipping the cup towards his host. It tastes of mint but not mint. It tastes like a biting chill.

"Why have you come?" The figure asks.

Damian supposes the tea was as much hospitably as his host would give.

"I have come to learn how to bend water."

The answer is plain and simple but clearly not for, "Yes. I understand that, but why?" Clearly the other figure disagrees.

"I am the Avatar, as such I must master all four elements."

Dick had trusted the figure who must have resided here, and whoever that master had living with them.

"Why?"

The question is getting repetitive.

Gritting his teeth Damian answers honestly, "My elder brothers are a soldier and an air bender respectively. Neither want the throne, I am the heir apparent and I must learn to be the best one I can. I will not repeat the mistakes of my Grandfather. I can not."

The figure leans back, blue eyes sharp in the light of the small fire.

"Then you will learn all I have to teach."

Damian splutters, "You? But you are-" Young. Non threatening, and clearly not a master of an art that had been lost but for some small parts.

He had expected an elder. Someone who would have remembered the steps from long ago, not someone so very young.

"Timothy." The figure responds, ignoring his shock, "I am Timothy."

…

Learning from Timothy, is not at all like learning from Dick. Nor Bruce. Nor Clark from when he needed to learn to control the earth. He had not mastered metal as the Steel King had, but he had come close.

It is like hell set on fire.

Every line, every position he preforms is repeated, scrutinized and found faulty.

There is no pleasing the water master, no doing something correctly nor successfully achieving some level of competence. Everything he does is wrong.

He would have left if not for the one thing that had made itself so abundantly clear once his new teacher had begun to show him the very basics of his practice.

Timothy knew every piece of water bending Damian had ever heard of. Not only that, but the older boy was so very gifted at his art to an extent Damian had only seen in Kings and Queens, and the special soldiers who often became generals.

He was a master at his art, and the younger boy had to respect that.

It did not stop the process from being excruciating.

_No. Watch your lines. You are not calling a flame. You are calling a tide, a greater thing. You do not draw this from yourself or from earth or from air, you draw from the great pools connecting the land. Every drop if rain every river and every tribunary._

_The oceans, the seas, they are what you draw from._

_Everything is water Damian, and water is everything._

It did not stop Damian from trying his best, putting as much effort as he could. Trying to get one good comment from the older boy, one speck of commendation.

_You are not trudging through mud. You are pulling the rain, therefore you must stop stomping your legs like a horse._

He understands that he will most likely never get a the recognition he wants, but he did not come to this place to be recognized. He came to be better. Even if he so desperately wants the approval that Timothy does not give.

Damian had seen his bending. The way ice and water and steam work for him. The fluidity of his lines, none of the harsh aggression of fire the young prince had known so well but the effortless grace of the water. Every line led to another.

There were no breaks in the movements. Everything was connected.

The sheer beauty took his breath away.

…

Once, Tim had taken him out to the edge where the ice met the ocean.

"Here, every year the tide comes larger than the land. Stop it."

The order had seemed simple. Another exercise to do. He was not told that the tide was a large tidal wave that periodical swept over the frozen lands, far from people.

He had found it strange that no animals had ventured through this area. Looking at the icy water coming towards him he understood.

Calling up all he knew, all he learned, he reached in the place that he knew as his core, the fire burning bright and he followed the path to the place where the fire had no say. The water in his veins.

Hands loose. He begins.

Every muscles hurts, every part of him is tired but he feels it, the sum of a years worth of liquid passing through the world to get to this destination.

He knows what he must do.

Sinking the wave, he feel the sweat fall from his brow. It must be returned from whence it came. Drifting the mass to the four corners off the world, edging it past countries he knew and some he didn't the young prince returns the water to its original place.

Tim places a hand on his shoulder, Damian's labored breathing harsh. He had not felt the sun come up.

The older boy speaks, "You are done. You have learned a sufficient amount. You will go home."

Damian is shocked, "Just last week you had compared me to a stomping bull. How can I possibly be done?"

Tim raises an eyebrow, "What can you do?"He asks.

Damian thinks. He can, he can make waves as large as he wants, he can make ice and shape it. He can pull water from the air, move single rain drops. He can move steam. He can make shields and spears and swords and all manner of defenses. He can make water orbs and oh-

It did not feel like he had learned so much and just this night he had brought water through the paths it traversed. All four corners of the globe. He had done that.

"But." Damian straightens his back, "I do not wish to leave until I learn everything you know."

He does not want to leave. not until he gets Timothy to say it, to admit that he is capable to some extent, to tell him that he done well.

Tim sighs, and the young prince can longer feel his body. his limbs moving against his will. "You do not want to learn all that I know. Water is in everything. Even blood. You have done well Damian. You have learned and persevered. You have done well. "

He still can't feel his limbs but that does not matter for Timothy places a kiss of his forehead wiping his cheek with his thumb.

He is smiling for the first time.

"You have done well."

Damian tries to nod only to find that his body is once again his own. The movement is a little too strong, a snap of his head down then up.

"I-I will return." He declares, "When I am King I will return and I will come to you and make you my mine."

Because he wants to make him smile. Just once more. And he would give anything do so, even his crown.

Tim laughs, bitter and ugly and sweet, his fingers still wiping at Damian's cheeks, "Oh child. There is no place for monsters like me out there in the green lands."

And Damian remembers the sensation of his limbs being moved.

_Water is in everything. Everything is water._

"You are not a monster." He growls, "And one day I will come and I will take from this cave and you will sit beside me. The most perfect being the world will ever see."

He does not care. He knows Tim. Gentle Timothy who would not harm anyone. Who helped small animals take shelter from storms and bandaged the snow rabbits with the same care that he bandaged Damian.

He will return.

Tim sighs, tired, "Leave Damian. One day you will understand."

Damian turns to make the long trek home, but not before he gives his parting remark, "I will return."

From behind he can hear Tim whisper to the wind, "Regardless if you come or not. I will be here."

…

When Damian is crowned he does not look at the ladies who fawn around him the men who try to catch his eye.

He leaves Bruce as regent for a while more and travels to bring back his other half.

…

The cave is the same as it was when he was young, hidden away and sacred.

Swallowing he walks in afraid as he was so long ago. He fears that Tim will reject him. That his intended will say no. That he will leave empty handed.

Again he makes his way through the icy caverns and again he gets lost, laying down to make his bed. He sleeps with he calm of knowing Timothy still resided in this place. The walls would not move without him.

He wakes to the now smaller figure, watching him.

There is no tea waiting for him, but a small fire burns.

"Why have you come?" Timothy asks.

Damian closes his eyes. This is his moment to make things right. To get what he came for. "I have come for you." He answers.

Again his answer is not enough for Tim asks him. "Why?"

Damian inhales. He will be strong in this matter. "Because I love you and will not leave this place without you."

Tim's eyes sharpen, "Your people would suffer."

Damian leans back, his voice sure, "If can not convince the only one I have ever loved that they mean something to me, that they are to be by my side then _I am not fit to be king_. Without you I will _never_ rule. I will stay in this place for all of my days and I will love you for each and every-"

"Stop." Tim interrupts, hand clamped to his forehead, "Please, just stop."

This is not the reaction he had intended to cause but he will take it. He has never heard the smaller one say please before, not when he was a child, not to anyone.

Damian must finish. He must ask, "Will you be mine?"

Tim considers a nation with no heir, the problems of forcing the throne on one who did not want it. He can not damn a country. He will not have that on his shoulders.

He can not say no to Damian, not the child and not the adult.

He had agreed to teach the boy, after everything his grandfather had done to him. Everything he had suffered due to Ra's.

He would agree to marry the adult.

"Yes. Yes, just stop."

Damian gently pries Tim's hand from his face, lifting the smaller figure into his arms.

"You'll see. We will be happy."

Tim knows they will, he knows that he will love Damian, that part of him had been lost to the serious boy from long ago who asked him for everything he knew.

He also knows that he does not deserve to be happy.

There is no place for monsters like him.


	16. Courting Robins

Summary: Damian attempts to court a clueless Tim.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors Note: This is an Anon prompt fill.

**Courting Robins**

Damian edges closer to the chair Tim is reclining in.

He does not know how his target will react but has completed all the research and consulted Colin. He has a plan. An outline of steps that were usually done to ensure the object of one's affection reciprocated said affection.

The first step, usually involved some form of gift giving, or kindness. Proof that the suitor was attentive to the needs and likes of the one they courted.

Nervously, Damian had decided to start small. Test the waters if you will. He feared that a strong approach would not work. His time spent trying to kill his target a horrible start, too much trust between him and Tim lost as he once left the older Robin bleeding.

Licking his lips Damian places the sandwich down beside the, as of a few months ago, shorter figure.

''Drake.'' Damian demands, ''I have made you sustenance. You will eat it.''

He had spent hours simply watching Timothy's eating habits, recording them with diligence. He had learned that the older male did not eat as often as was recommended, and that he liked sandwiches. Whole grain bread, stuffed with tender slices of chicken baked with butter and rosemary, no mayonnaise, tomatoes, pickles, and a small splash of sauce.

He had learned that Alfred often brought up variations on the theme when he wanted Tim to eat, and that the food remained a favourite of the third Robin.

He had finally perfected the meal; the failures had been fed to Colin, as the red head observed him, commenting on his skill in the kitchen.

Tim looked at the sandwich, then Damian, then back at the sandwich.

''Is it poisoned?'' Is the first thing Tim asks, poking the meal with one finger.

Damian scowls and takes a small bite, leaving most of it intact for consumption. Swallowing he opens his maw, allowing Tim to see that he has eaten the piece.

Tim nods, ''So it's not poisoned. Why is it here?''

Damian stifles a groan. ''It is here for you to eat.''

Tim looks back at the sandwich. He is not entirely sure what to do but the food smells good and he's feeling peckish. ''Okay.''

Turning back to the computer Tim watches the younger boy leave from the reflection on the screen. He'll finish writing a few more lines of code before he eats.

…

The sandwich gambit had been successful. Timothy ate the meal. This pleased Damian. He had feared that the older Robin would not touch the food at all.

Its consumption had been the end goal.

He would repeat the food making, throughout the courtship now that he knew his efforts would be eaten.

It was time for step two.

…

Timothy had delicate wrists. Often the youngest Robin would watch him wrapping extra protection around them, wincing slightly.

He would show his care with a small massage to the hurt area. If he was careful he could make this a habit, much like the food preparation.

Tim did not like being touched. This would be most difficult.

Watching Tim take the bandages from his wrists he gently grabbed the smaller figure by the forearm. Ignoring the slight jolt his predecessor gave, he slowly kneaded his fingers into the tender skin that surrounded the protruding bones of Tim's wrists.

There was a small amount of struggle and grumbling before the smaller one simply leaned back into Damian's chest, mewling softly.

Settling Tim down onto the training mat, Damian retrieved the ice pack he had taken with him for this very reason.

The cool relief felt so very good to the third Robin, as did the strong fingers soothingly rubbing irritated flesh.

Damian thought of the special bandages and cream he had squirreled away, meant to prevent inflammation and encourage softness in the skin. Later, when Tim became used to this treatment he would utilise them.

Damian left Tim sitting on the training mats, confused but grateful for the assistance.

Tim realized that Damian had been behaving so strangely, but he wasn't being harmful. He supposed he should be happy for small mercies and allowed the younger boy to continue unquestioned.

Rotating his wrist, Tim hummed in pleasure.

In fact, he thought, Damian was being rather helpful.

…

Step three was difficult.

It involved luring Tim into spending time with him, perhaps to see movie or dinner as the research had indicated.

Despite Tim's willingness to eat his food and allow Damian to help him bandage his wrists, he was unsure that the older boy would agree to spend time with him.

He could not trick Tim into doing so; he could not force the subject in some manner. He had no choice but to ask and this gave Tim the option to reject him.

Girding his loins Damian tapped Tim on the shoulder, ''I was hoping that you could accompany me to the movies.''

There, that was a textbook thing to do on a date, even if the other party did not know that a date was occurring. He needed to bide his time. He had to prove he could be good for Tim, before asking for more.

Tim set down the book he was reading.

''Have you ever been to the movies Damian?''

Damian responded, ''I have of course seen Zorro, with the family, you were there, and I have watched a number of films with Colin on the television.''

Tim wondered if he had ever been to a theatre, ''Have you ever been to a theatre?'' He asked.

Damian, hands behind his back, shook his head in negative.

Tim assumed that the younger boy just wanted someone to come with him as he tried to do an activity that he must have heard referenced by the family or Colin several times over. He ignored the niggling sensation that something was off.

''Sure. Just let me grab my coat.''

The outing was interesting in the way that Damian took his coat off for him, and carried it inside. Picking up their tickets and buying snacks that Tim actually enjoyed. Popcorn, despite the strange yellow substance that was inserted into it from the concession stand was one of his guilty pleasures.

Damian bought a large bag. As well as some Zesti , the orange flavour, for the flavour was in fact orange, not the fruit but the colour. No fruit was used to create the soda.

Another of Tim's preferences.

Damian was courteous, considerate and a perfect gentleman.

He even picked an odd science fiction movie Tim had been meaning to watch but had not made the time for.

That had been the final nail in the coffin.

Slowly munching on his food Tim considered his next actions. For one thing Damian had not asked outright, which had been the smart thing to do, if underhanded.

He had sidled up to Tim, like a mongoose watching snake eggs. He was aware that he had just compared himself to a snake egg.

The elder Robin knew that Damian probably had a much larger plan in mind. Something that would gradually bring the two of them together. Something that would allow Tim more time to adjust.

Part of him wanted to see that plan unfold. The other part wanted to settle this now and a third smaller part wanted to run away.

The movie was spent considering options.

He thought of the way Damian had brought him food, and he suspected that the younger boy had cooked some of it himself. The way he was patient, the way he considered Tim's needs and preferences.

Bruce would probably burst a vein.

Taking a sip of the Zesti, Tim decides that simplicity would be best in this matter.

''Ask.''

Damian flusters, weary. He is unsure of what Tim is referring to or if he referring to anything, maybe he is simply saying a word in the dark of the theatre for no reason.

The glow of the screen gives Tim and ethereal presence. He does not know what to say.

Tim turns to face him, ''You never asked. So ask.''

And-Oh..Oh..ask. He can do that. It was step forty eight but he can so that now. He just needs to remember the words he had chosen.

He clears his throat, straightening his back. He had never intended to do this in a movie theatre, the credits rolling, other patrons leaving their seats.

''Timothy, would you accept my courtship?''

Tim blushes, the soft pink just visible. He leans into Damian's side, and allows the younger boy to help him from his seat.

''Yes.''

Damian inflates with pride. He must reorganize his plan, beginning from section two, the one that dealt with what actions he would take if Tim accepted his suit.

This was a most joyous day.


	17. Monopoly

_Summary: The Wayne boys playing monopoly. Damian and Tim murder the competition. _

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Monopoly**

"Fuck you. Fuck you both." Jason snarls, tossing his top hat game piece at his competitors.

Damian and Tim smirked, fake money exchanging hands. Between the two of them they owned over three quarters of the property on the board.

Jason had just been in jail. Again. For the third time.

Dick raised his hands, "Okay, guys calm down. It's just a game."

Jason spluttered pointing to the board, the two youngest owned most of the bank as well as well as most of the board, "This is not a game. Its a massacre! There should be a rule against those two working together. It's wrong. Like, end of the world wrong."

Dick sighs, two minutes into the game the two Robins had looked at each other, communicating with some higher power to agree to a truce.

Their actions had been calculated, their strategies ruthless.

The first Robin had never seen Monopoly played with such deranged precision. It was like they were taking over a small island country, not a game.

Dick wondered what it would be like if the two actually tried to take over the world.

His mind flashes to images of streets burning, a throne erected on a pile of dead bodies, Tim and Damian sharing the seat, superheroes laid at their feet.

He thinks the world was safer when they didn't like each other.

Jason's swearing is a constant noise beside his thoughts. He can hear the younger boy leave the room.

All Dick knows is that one day Damian did not care for Tim and the next he adored him. The same went for Tim.

He isn't sure he wants to know how this change actually occurred, despite his previous hopes that the two would learn how to get along.

Looking down at the board, watching the two of them put each piece back in its proper place he reconsiders the greater implications.

He can always hope that they'll start fighting again. Maybe over a pretty girl.

He then remembers Damian calling Steph fat. To her face. Repeatedly, and Tim well, Tim's sparkling virginess. Maybe they would -

No, no they wouldn't. Far too logical, both of them.

Snapping out of his thoughts Dick can see Damian leading Tim out of the room. Tim carries the Monopoly box under one arm.

Damian, short as he currently is has one hand resting right in the shallow dip of Tim's back. There is no reason for his hand to be there, his pinky just touching the older Robin's rear.

His eyes go wide and he chokes.

That hand is not in the friendly brotherly place a hand goes, it is in the I want to lay you down and lick the insides of your tights place, which ewww because Damian is twelve, but it's there.

Oh. God.

There will be no girls. None.

He has the feeling that once Damian is old enough, those two were going to be more than brothers. Like future Mister and Misses Wayne more, because he knows Damian. He does not do things lightly and when he decides, he really, truly, decides and he had seen that board game, the way Damian looked so proud as he worked beside Tim.

Oh. God.

They were all doomed. So doomed.

Jason was right. The world was going to end.

Laying down on the carpet Dick moaned like a wounded animal.

Doomed.

Doomed.

He repeats the word whispering it under his breath, in between pained sounds.

"Doooooomed."


	18. Of Nightwings and Robins

_Summary: The order of the Robins has been reversed. Damian is the first and then Tim and so on. This is set in the Young Justice world._

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Of Red Robins and Nighwings**

Batman watched his charges, his youngest bouncing on his feet alongside Wally.

Dick made a wonderful Robin. If a bit hyper. His teammates stood beside him. M'gann eager, Artemis petulant, Kaldur calm and Conner angry.

They were about to meet his eldest children.

"All of you are getting new guardians while Red Tornado undergoes repair. Canary is also occupied for the time being." The Bat announces. He is only a face on a screen, but his presence makes him more so.

"Robin will be able to introduce you."

Bruce smirks as his youngest explodes with excitement. He knew Dick would like this. The young bird asks because he has to be sure ,but B would never be that mean, to joke about something like that, "You mean?"

Batman nods.

A familiar voice comes from behind, "Compose yourself Robin."

The team turns to see two figures, one is tall as the Bat, dressed in black and blue. The other beside him is different. Far more slender with sweeping black hair and a stylized red bird on his chest, the shorter one smiles.

He is dressed in black leather boots tucked into a skin tight uniform, gloves matching the boots, weapons strapped to his thighs. The black and red domino works with everything.

They are a matched set in red and blue.

Red Robin and Nightwing.

Legendary heroes, far more ruthless than the JLA, usually sent as an elite combat team to deal with situations that would bother even the most valiant of crime fighters.

Kaldur swallows. He had..admired Red Robin, back when he fought by the side of his king. His elegance, his skill, his boundless intelligence.

He had, had many…thoughts..about the elder hero.

Trying not to blush he speaks, "It is an honor to have you here. Red Robin, Nightwing." He is so very proud that his voice does not waver but he can not help the bow, Dick snickers, Tim has always inspired such reactions.

He remembers the time Penguin took of his top hat in his presence out of courtesy.

Wally's mouth had long since dropped open.

This was, oh god, these two were made of awesome and they were going to be with them. Look after them. His inner fanboy exploded but his body remained still and gaping.

Meanwhile Robin rushed the two of them, wrapping himself around Red cooing incoherently about how happy he was that the two of them were there. One arm snuck out to wrap around Damian.

Superboy scowls, "Who are they?" He asks.

Kaldur clears his throat, "They are well respected heroes and I believe that they are the elder brothers of Robin who gets his namesake from Red Robin."

Damian sneers but pats his younger brother on the head. Somehow he manages to look terrifying despite the young teen partially attached to him. "We start training now. You will be in the appropriate area in five minutes."

It is not a choice. It is a demand.

…

"Oh god." Wally moans.

Everything hurt. To his side Superboy lay whimpering.

Artemis was unconscious and M'gann lay there catching her breath.

Kaldur had clutched his side and Dick laughed from where he was still going strong, Nightwing demanding more from the young teen while Red gently but firmly corrected his moves and stance.

What were these people?

A room full of metas and they had taken each and every one of the down in the most brutally efficient of ways… and then they did it again, and again, and again until the young heroes could do no more.

Only Robin was left and Robin was a bat.

Collectively they wondered what they had gotten themselves into?

When they finally decided that Robin had done enough, the smallest bird was given a piggyback ride to where the teens lay in a semi conscious puddle of limbs and pain. Damian was not amused.

"Tt. Pathetic. When I was your age I could do these exercises blindfolded. And I did. "

They could easily believe that.

Nightwing continued, "When Red was your age he had a grasp for strategy that none of you will ever gain regardless of how hard you try, but I had expected you to understand that a battle is not simply based around how you move your limbs but the the thought behind those movements."

Dick pouted, "No fair big D, you can't compare them to you and Red. Both of you are crazy good at what you do."

Damian snorted, "You are fine little bird, your teammates are lacking."

Dick tugged a lock of his eldest siblings short black hair. "Still not fair, when Red was tiny he took down Ra's al Ghul and the League of Shadows and he was the one who figured out that B wasn't actually dead back then_ and_ you two where the ones who brought him back. "

Superboy gaped. That was..impressive. His files informed him that young children did not usually do those things.

Wally whimpered.

They were all going to die.

…

Watching their temporary mentors leave Young Justice breathed a collective sigh of relief, save for Robin who had latched onto Reds cape and refused to let go, pouting about how he would miss them and so on.

The rest of them felt a bone deep ache.

They had learned more in the past few days then they ever had before. They had learned painfully. Their bruises had bruises, except for Superboy who did not in fact bruise and Robin who was a bat, but the rest of them were hurting.

Damian slung his arm around Tim as they left, grinning darkly at Kaldur. Kissing his beloved he allowed that to be the last image the teens saw before they were transported away.

Robin was the only one who wasn't surprised.

Aqualad blushed and Artemis spluttered, "They're brothers!"

Dick cackled, " Red's adopted, well technically Nightwing refused to allow the adoption because he wanted to get married and its hard to get that done as legal brothers."

"Married!" Kaldur blurted out, composing himself immediately after. His childhood fantasies burning to dust.

Robin blinked under his mask, "Well…yeah..those two have been together for like..forever."

It was the most obvious thing to the youngest of the bats who had grown up with his eldest siblings so in tune to each other that when one moved, so did the other.

He hoped they'd be back soon.

_…_

_Damian watches the screen in front of him, Tim perched on his lap controlling the view, slender hands taping away at the keyboard._

Jason makes a face at the couple, "Ewww, cooties." He drawls.

The sarcasm is clear.

Seventeen years old and almost grown into his full frame the third child of the Wayne family could not watch his elder siblings, or his younger one without poking fun.

"Hush Jason." Tim softly reprimands. A swat on the nose, bad puppy.

"Kay, pretty bird. You going to come to my parent teacher interview this Friday?"

The third Robin had been calling Tim pretty bird as far as he had been in the family. It had started once upon a time when Tim was still the boy wonder. He had caught a young child trying to steal the tires from the batmobile.

While bringing the would be thief home, Tim had the pleasure of listening to the young one leer at him, calling him a pretty birdie. The name had stuck.

When Jason was brought home Tim had fussed over his weight, his clothes, his life in general, adopting the younger one with a forged signature and a well placed bribe or two to the Gotham adoption agency.

The family, Bruce and Damian, at the time, had been bowled over. They had two choices at that point. Both with the same outcome.

One, accept the new edition to the family.

Two, fight and struggle against the addition and eventually adapt to his presence because Tim would not see reason thus the child would not be placed elsewhere.

They had gone with option one, pretending that Jason had always been in the family.

…

Tim's own addition into the fold had been much the same in the way that Bruce was never actually given an option.

Batman had been lost in time, Tim had understood this and brought it to the attention of Damian. The two had then brought the elder man back.

Upon the return of one Bruce Wayne the first Robin refused to let Timothy go home, and in that same line he refused to allow the smaller boy to be adopted. He had handcuffed the other to himself when his father spoke of how Tim's own family would want him back.

They hadn't noticed that their child had been traipsing around the world for an entire year and in Damian's opinion that meant that he was fair game. If his own blood did not want him, then they should have no problem giving him to the Wayne's.

In the end Robin had strong armed the family into keeping Tim, who became the second Robin alongside Damian.

One bird had been known for his cruelty and malice and the other for his cold ruthlessness.

…

Jason moved closer to Damian, tapping his shoulder.

"In a moment Jason. I am aware that today is the day I will impart on you the knowledge of, in your words..how to make like a ninja."

Jason pumps his fist in excitement, "Yes," he exclaims, bouncing on his feet.

This was going to be the best thing ever. Nightwing knew all the great tricks. The Red Hood, moved onto one of the training mats impatiently.

He had the coolest brothers, ever.

..

Tim walked into the school, operating as Jason's legal guardian.

The second Robin sat down in the principals office, his charge taller than him, certainly more threatening in appearance than he was.

Nervously Jason looks over, whispering, "Hey, I just wanted you to know that..I, I, uh..I may have -"

"I know." Tim interrupts.

Jason relaxed. The older bird always knew. It would be creepy if it wasn't so damn comforting.

..

"Mr. Drake, your ward has been absent once a week at the very least. He simply does not show up to school let alone class."

"Oh dear." Tim brought his hand to his lips in false shock.

"Yes! Exactly-"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Weston. I did not make my point clear, you see, we've hired Jason private tutors to supplement some of his school. Their schedule tends to change often based on my charge's preferences. My secretary must have forgotten to forward you the paper work."

The older man leans back, "Truly? Private tutors you say?"'

Tim nods, "Your programs are lovely, but Jason has always been a different kind of learner. He works better with his body. He does some his work during the evenings and the weekends, freeing up his mornings. I don't want him to spend all his time in school."

"Yes, yes of course. I understand completely." The man twirled his mustache in pleasure, happy that the meeting was going so well.

Tim smiled as he stood, "I must be off Mr. Weston, I have a meeting soon. It was a pleasure seeing you. I will have the paperwork faxed over tomorrow."

"It was good to meeting you as well Mr. Drake, have a nice evening."

Tim walked out of the small cubicle. He always did like it when the meetings he was forced to attend where short.

The paper trail would be faked by tomorrow.

"Jason" Tim starts as they swing past the school doors, "You have been in private tutoring during your evenings and weekends."

The younger boy nods and grins happily, "So I can keep skipping?"

Tim hums in acknowledgement, "If you keep your grades up."

"Sweet."

_…_

_Tim walked through the halls one hand firmly in Dick's regardless of the younger teens age. Instinctively the younger bird shuffles closer to the elder._

Parent Teacher meetings were always something else. Mostly because Dick wasn't bringing a parent, he wasn't bringing Bruce although to be fair Red Robin was far more hands on in all familial duties than anyone else.

Artemis looked at the pair from her locker. Richard Grayson, the schools mathlete extrordinare. Bruce Wayne's youngest ward. The man beside him was someone she didn't know. Tall and slender with blue eyes, they could have been brothers.

If one of them wasn't an orphan she would have been sure.

"That's Timothy Drake, he's well, he's Damian Wayne's boyfriend and both of them are just perfect." sighed one of the girls within her hearing range.

"I heard that he's like, a genius and that he's engaged to Damian, because Wayne corp needed someone who wasn't burned out from drugs to lead it."

"Isn't Damian really smart though?"

"I know right, and he's foreign. He probably speaks another language."

The gossip reaches her ears but all she can see are the graceful lines of the two passing her by. Grayson was awkward still, all knobbly knees and elbows, but there was something there, something that would grow to be pretty damn hot one day instead instead of puppy dog cute.

She can see were the chin that was a little too square for his face would shift, how he would gain muscle and height.

She can see where he would grow taller than his..guardian? Brother in law?

And she can see Drake, pretty enough to make her jealous walk right past her.

..

"Are they bothering you?" Tim asks. He doesn't trust the teachers. Doesn't trust anyone with the safety of the youngest bird.

Dick shakes his head, "I'm not high on the social totem pole but I'm not getting hurt."

"Name calling?"

"Nuh Uh."

"Is anyone taking your things?"

"Nope."

"Good." Tim finishes.

"What were you like, you know, when you started high school?" Dick asks, curious.

Tim hums in thought, "I was valedictorian when it ended, and I was was with Damian when it began. Most of the time I spent keeping him as far away from others as I could."

Dick laughs, "What was big D like, I can't even imagine him in high school."

"He was an unholy terror." Tim replied dryly.

"I know. Every time he comes to these things the teachers keep flinching. Its pretty asterous."

..

Oh God. Dick is going to burst if he doesn't get to laugh soon. Seriously burst. His insides can't take this.

He thought it was bad when Damian came to his school, Red was just so much worse. They kept looking at him like he ate babies in his spare time.

It was so _awesome. _

Tim wasn't even threatening anyone. He was just being polite, well really cold, but polite and his math teacher looked ready to piss himself.

"That was quite ….enlightening, I do so hope Richard maintains his current grades. You will of course call me if there are any problems, won't you."

"I-I, yes of course. It was nice to see you again Mr. Drake."

Such a lie. Such a massive lie.

Dick waits for them to get out of the classroom before he starts, "Oh my god. Oh my god, what did you do?"

Tim tilts his head, "Nothing at all, he just remembered me. How sweet."

"What did you do?" Dick whispers in awe.

"Many things. Come along now babybird, we wouldn't want you to get lost."

The janitor runs away screaming when he sees them.

"Okay seriously, what did you do? Tim? Tim?"


	19. The Wayne's

_Summary: Damian and Timothy Wayne as siblings and implied lovers, much like Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia. _

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**The Wayne's**

Purring on the bed sheets Tim smiles knife sharp, "Hello little brother." He croons. His limbs are splayed with abandon. Damian crawls into the satin sheets of the bed, the silk covers the down stuffed pillows, and rests his head on the smooth cream of a slender stomach.

To do this he must ruck up the pale blue shirt draped across the elders form, along the way he presses kisses to small freckles and black beauty marks. One sits directly by the small jut of Tim's hip. It is his favorite. Rubbing his cheek on the soft flesh below Damian humms in pleasure.

Soft bursts of laughter spill from Tim's lips like sunlight, "Do you feel better now, " he asks, sure of the answer yet questioning regardless.

"Much," Damian responds kisses trailing across the milky expanse.

…

There is something off about the youngest of the Wayne's. Power has been known to buy anything but -

"Do you have any idea what they're saying?" Dick asks, throwing a paper down on the counter in between them. Yet another set of slanderous libel speaking of the "closeness" between Damian and Timothy Wayne.

"I'll have you know that they have no proof and father has been accused of doing so much more with us, it will pass."

Dick huffs, and excepts this as true. Their family has never been the most morally inclined, what's one more sin in an ocean of depravity.

"Dad wants you you take take care of the competition."

The change of topic is appreciated.

"Dent? Hmm…I suppose its been a while since I've used the garrotte. It will be a nice change eldest."

…

Slipping his hands around Damian's shoulders Tim nips at one rounded ear, the breathy whisper he releases sends shivers down the younger ones spine, "Dent is long dead brother dearest, the examiners tell me he had a heart attack."

"Timothy, " Damian begins as the person in question places on finger to his lips, he resists the urge to take the appendage into his mouth.

"I wanted to spend some time with you, with father running for his re-election, everything's been so busy."

It was fact. The vote to re-instate Bruce as president had caused an unholy mess among the family. So many people had to be taken care of or bribed or simple moved.

Smiling at the soft pout Damian lifts the smaller one, carrying them into the gardens. Today they would rest, there would be time for work tomorrow.

..

Tim traces his brothers lips with fingers dripping blood

"Everything for you beloved." Damian promised licking the redness form his mouth the bitter iron tang spreading down his throat.

"And all the same for you." Tim replied.

…

When they were children, wrapped around each other in the private gardens, in boarding schools were they shared a bed and a life despite the nature of their born relationship, their shared blood.

"Would you have been born of another I would have married you." Damian whispered, their bed too small for more than one, and they have always been two. The dorm room was silent, the bed across from them unused as it would always be.

"Would that have been, I would have said yes." This is not a confession. This is the truth of their life.

This is what they have known since they were old enough to realize what they wanted from the other.

"Dick tells me we're bad for each other." Tim sighed from his perch on the roof.

The roof tiles felt warm under Damian feet, "Dick is an idiot." 


	20. Catch and Release

_Summary: Bruce is keping Tim on lockdown, as far away from Damian as possible..for reasons._

Note: I warn you of breifly mentioned abuse that happened in the past tense, and this is a prompt/challenge fill for honey.

Disclaimer: In own nothing.

**Catch and Release**

''Bruce.'' Tim watches the taller man before continuing, ''You know this isn't right.''

The older man glares, ''You'll only get hurt. Its better this way.''

And Tim had always known that the older man was standing on the edge of a slippery slope, a long fall into the recesses of insanity, he just never expected it to happen like this.

Bruce does not display erratic behaviour. He does not lose control, no, when is he truly losing his mind he is at his most controlled, his decisions justified and skewed so as to make his actions seem reasonable when they are anything but.

Tim sighs as he curls deeper into his armchair, the tracking bracelet remains closed around his ankle. It looks about the width of an armband, sleek and dark but its purposes sinister.

The slighter one cannot leave the manor without a dose of sedative being administered directly to his blood stream. He cannot move without the Bat knowing.

There are several exceptions but all of them are the various routes to safe houses that directly lead to and from the house.

They are all underground.

Tim has long since passed the point of frustration and now he simply waits. He had made an attempt or seven to unlock the tracer but had been unsuccessful, unable to undo what Bruce had done.

''You know he's coming for me.'' Tim states calm and sure. If anything, he knows that Damian wouldn't leave him here.

''Let him come.'' Bruce replies.

Tim sometimes wishes that he didn't know exactly why the elder man was so opposed to his two youngest children being together.

Part of him is torn between wanting his lover to come for him and staying safe in the manor.

He knows that Bruce never trusted Damian, not fully and that when they first got together the elder man had given his blessing and his warning.

Then the bruises started.

At first they were easy to hide, to cover up as part of his nightly activities, to lie about the cause, the hands that hurt him.

And then the bones snapped.

The first time Tim came home with a broken arm his father's eyes had been slits of anger, the accusations spewing forth because one bruise too many had been enough.

He had pulled up Tim's shirt to reveal a vicious bite-mark on his side, the blood still caking around the wound, and the bat had been furious.

He had locked Tim into one of the safe rooms and gone after his youngest deaf to Tim's pleading that it wasn't what he thought. That Damian never meant it, and that it wasn't as bad as it looked.

Tim has never known what happened in the conversation the two had but soon after the youngest of the Robins left Gotham to fight crime elsewhere and Tim had followed.

Bruce found him, hunted him down in a hospital in Hong Kong.

When he came to he was in Wayne Manor and he was no longer allowed to leave.

Bruce stood and walked towards him baring another blanket. Tim had always been cold blooded. The warm fleece felt nice against his skin as he thumbed through some ancient tome.

His father ran gentle fingers through his hair.

Bruce had once believed that he could teach Damian to be different, to fix what had been broken and iron out all the depravities that came from his upbringing. His behaviour with Tim proven otherwise. His youngest had been overbearing, possessive and cruel.

He had left his supposed partner alone and barely breathing in a small hospital room, uncaring of the consequences.

The bat almost wanted him to show his face in Gotham, if only so he could impress unto him, exactly what one did not do to one's significant other, more so than he already had.

Kissing Tim's forehead he leaves the room.

_…_

_Bruce gazed at his third child, curled up in the seat in front of him, "You know he isn't good for you." He states._

Tim averted his eyes, refusing to speak. For the most part, he chose silence because there was nothing that could be said to effectively argue on behalf of a man who routinely abused him.

"I know." He replied, because he did, in fact, know. He had seen this type of behavior in domestic disturbance calls and he knew his own parents neglect to be exactly what it was. He was aware of the things that had passed between him and Damian and just how cruel they had been.

The bat sighs as he walks towards him, kneeling in front of the huddled form, "Why were you two together in the first place, did he -"

"No." Tim denied, because it wasn't like that at all. It really hadn't been,"You don't understand I push him."

Bruce growled, "There are no excuses for his behavior."

Tim groans, "Not like that. I mean, Damian hits me and I ruin him, it's how we work. I purposely break him apart until he retaliates. It's not, it's not the best thing in the world but it's ours."

The bat nods, he does not quiet understand and he is not ready to try, "I don't care. You never laid a hand on him when you two were together. Say what you want but he put you in a hospital Tim."

"And I broke his heart."

"What part of that does not matter, did you fail to understand. He will never step foot in this house again, or see you, or so help me I will end him."

Tim sighed and slumped against the older man, "It's not like that." He whispers, remembering all the games played. The cheating the coldness, the warped tricks that left the younger man desperate for some outlet for his rage.

They had never been good for each other.

_…_

_Damian held the picture in his hands._

His Timothy. Beloved and enemy.

Both words tasted the same. Like blood on his lips.

He wishes they could do things differently, but only for a moment. He can see it at the edges of his vision, this world where they never hurt each other as much as they loved. Where they didn't take their price in flesh injured and scars burned deep for every soft kiss or gentle hold.

The problem was.

The problem was that as much as they wanted to be kind to the other, as much as they needed the soft words, the sweetness that came from caring, both of them could not accept such things. Not without a price.

And if that price wasn't given it would be, because otherwise-

They were so good. Perfect for a while, each step in tune, until the shadows came out. Until all their insecurities spilled forth in endless streams.

It started with a look of guilt, a sadness, a loss of appetite and then it built.

It always began with the small actions, the food he didn't like, boiling in the kitchen, the way everything was re-arranged when he slept, the way Tim would prod at his worst parts and sleep elsewhere, coming home with bruises on his neck that Damian did not leave.

That wicked grin.

_Do you love me now._

And he tried not to react but he never could stop himself, and when he left, he ran as far away from the mess he made, his hands trembling.

This time I won't come back, he promises himself. This time we'll stay apart and this will be no more.

So he is thankful for Bruce, for enforcing a separation when he knows, deep in bones that they were never going to be good together.

When they love just as much as they hate.

_Do you still love me now?_

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But he can't wipe that smirk of Tim's face, that question, and Tim can't stop his rage.

Because, _do you still love me_ belongs to Tim but _why won't you love me is his_.

And all he has to do is stay away. Just stay were he is but the picture in his hand does not do justice to the most beautiful thing he's ever known and one way or another he'll get his beloved back.

Even though he knows he'll loose him all over again.

aEven though there's only one way for this to end because they're going to eat each other live, down to the final parts. One day they'll play their game for the last time.

For lifetimes.

Because as much as they love each other, the hate is just as strong.

_Do you still love me now?_

Always


	21. Feral

_Summary: Damian has gone feral to everyone except Tim. _

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Feral**

Damian growls and lunges at Dick's throat, violent beyond all measure. Nightwing, retreats locking the door behind him to the sounds of Robin, howling in rage, nearly foaming at the mouth.

He would not have survived, not when Damian was as he was, half mad and feral.

Not if they fought.

Not when the younger boy had nothing left to lose, his mind too far gone to recognize right from wrong.

…

"What's wrong with him?" Dick whispered, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the boy lashed to the bed, restrained in place.

Damian looked so very small on the white sheets of the hospital bed that served as his cage.

Zatanna looked as though she was about to throw up. The news was not good, could not be good.

"The spell, that spell. It's an infection. It'll only get worse. You don't understand Dick, you won't be able to control him. No one will and innocent people will get hurt. Damian is going to die anyway…."

"What are you saying?"

Zatanna looks away. They both know what she's not saying. _Put him out of his misery._

Dick shakes his head, bracing himself on the wall. He had spent the past few days watching his youngest brither deteriorate, watching him try to claw at those who came near him, and when that failed himself.

"Look at him. We can keep him contained, we have time, we can fix this."

Zatanna watched what she knew to be the beginning, the start of an illness that killed off so many. If Damian survived he would be a monster. The kind that reveled in breaking apart others.

"This isn't like that. It takes the darkest parts of you and magnifies them. It makes you stronger, some would say better but, at a price. _If _he lives he won't be able to control himself."

Dick watches his younger brother convulse, lines of black streaking under his veins.

He needs to fix this.

…

They do not find a cure, nor do they kill their youngest out of mercy. They ride it out.

Damian lives.

…

He is cruel and horrible and all the things every sorceress they spoke to swore he would be but he is Damian.

When he's not around others, he is silent. He watches the doors and waits. A predator waiting for prey.

When prey enters he watches with such huger, such bloodlust, scenting the intruders, eyes watching, body tense, ready to pounce if only he could.

When they make their decision, they do not decide lightly.

..

Bruce closes his eyes, "He can't be like this. We can't keep him, not like this."

Dick yells, he screams and he cries, but in the end he can do nothing but agree.

They will end this madness. One way. Or Another.

They have chosen the first.

…

Bruce walks into the chamber, the prison cell, unprepared and sick to his stomach. He will never be ready for this.

Soon this room will not hold the monster it keeps. Soon Damian will do one of two things, he will break out or he will die. Only-

Damian is no longer there and when they search, when they watch the cameras all they find is-

Nothing.

..

Tim carries the limp body in his arms, heavier than he once recalled it to be.

Robin has grown.

He places the boy in a room, he had been prepared for the inevitable fallout, once the rest of the family discovered the loss. Prepared to defend his choice at some point but he has no choice because-

Tim has never been good at letting things go. Even the ones that did not like him, or the ones he did not like.

He would not allow this, even if he had to guard Damian for the rest of his life, no more Robins would die, or be pushed from their nests.

Never again.

Not like he was. Not like Jason or Dick. The sins of the father would not be his. He refused to allow them a place in his life.

He knows that the demon child will hate him for this.

…

He is wrong.

…

When Damian wakes, chained in his new cell, he does not say a word, simply staring at Tim with blank eyes.

Spooning broth into a mildly responsive mouth Tim worries at first, wondering if the dosage he gave was too high, but he knows that it wasn't. He has administered the drug before, knows how much to give, even for one of Damian's age and size.

The youngest Robin is simply sedate through his own will.

Another spoon of broth enters the younger boy's mouth. He swallows and stares at Tim.

Wiping Damian's mouth with a washcloth, Tim wonders if he's made a mistake. Hopes that he hasn't.

…

The first sound Damian makes is a whimper, small and hardly noticeable, but this is the first time Tim has left the younger boy's line of sight in days.

He has bathed, fed and taken care of the smallest bird constantly.

Tim returns to room at the sound. He sees Damian, who has not moved an inch. An experiment, a hope.

He steps out of Robin's line of sight, and the whimper returns.

Back and it stops.

…

This is the stupidest thing Tim has ever done bar none. He is lifting the chains from his little prisoner, unlocking the bindings and setting him free. Past this Damian has perfect access to Tim and the ability to do great harm.

The last restraint loosens and Tim closes his eyes. In his current position he wouldn't be able to fight back. He'd either be dead soon or he wouldn't.

Damian moves towards him, snuggling deeply into his chest, contorting himself to sit in Tim's lap, crooning softly.

"Oh." Tim breathes. He was not expecting this.

…

It is a process. Re-gaining control. Damian becomes sharper, he knows what he's doing, starts to speak with the same fluent ease he once had.

Something in his eyes remains off. It is more ruthless than it should be and Tim is so very scared of letting Damian go out into the streets, surrounded by other people.

This Damian, the new one is smart and gifted and skilled in all the things the other Damian once was, this one simply does not care for human life or any life at all. This one is a sociopath with violent tendencies and an attachment to Tim.

This one comes up to Tim and opens his mouth when he wants to be fed, a habit gained from months of being restrained. Months of the only care received coming from Tim who always complied with the gesture, cooking food for the both of them.

Despite the return of Damian's more complicated thought processes, some actions remain.

This Damian is uncaring of his surroundings, no longer prone to prideful embarrassment.

He moves as he wants, does as he wants and regrets nothing.

…

When Bruce finds them, they are watching a movie, Damian's head in Tim's lap as he's fed pieces of popcorn, one buy one. He no longer consumes food save from the hand of the third Robin.

Tim's little pet tiger, his pet monster, docile as he absorbs the the film.

Bruce's entrance sparks a rebellion.

Before any words are spoke, Damian immediately goes for the throat. He is himself now, he knows his actions but this intruder would pay regardless.

He needs to protect but Tim steps between them, throwing his body around Damian's.

Both to shield him from Bruce and Bruce from him.

He does not want either of them to be hurt and in his arms Damian settles. Attentive to the foreign presence but calm.

"Hello Bruce." Tim greets.

"Tim." Bruce responds. "Why isn't Damian trying to kill you?"

Tim runs his fingers through the smaller boys hair, looking over his shoulder to face the bat, "I think he likes me."

He does not know why the younger boy is fine in his presence. He just is.

He does not care.

_Damian is alive._

_…_

_Bruce fails to reason with his youngest sons' Damian snapping at him when he reaches for Tim, Tim backing away as Damian snaps, trying to keep the two separated._

"We need to have Zatanna look at him."

Tim has buried the smaller boy's face in the crook of his neck, rubbing soothing fingers down his nape. The plain black t-shirt parts as his fingers slip beneath beneath the collar to rub small circles on the knobs of the youngest Robins spine.

Bruce is feels uncomfortable at the touch. It is..familiar.

Tim rests his chin on Damian's head and replies, "She can come to us. Stay in the other room while you wait."

It is a cool dismissal, one he has never received from his third child, the one who had always followed his orders without question.

"Tim-" He does not get a chance to finish the sentence, does not know what he would say if he could.

"Go. Just go."

Tim's eyes are staring of to the side. He won't look Bruce in the eye. He can't. Where would he be if he did. Listening to a man explain and justify the death of his son. The sad truth is that what Tim did was reckless and stupid and that the better option had been the one the Bat chose.

It didn't look that way only due to some freak accident which had calmed the infected one. The thing that allowed him to be at peace with Tim.

Bruce had been right. Tim had been just. There was a difference.

Closing his eyes Tim can hear light footsteps moving towards the other room. He can hear Damian's growling lessen.

He knows the younger boy won't speak. Not to someone who is not Tim. He thinks the younger boy won't speak. He hopes he doesn't.

He knows the conversations they've had, the ones Tim has listened to and accepted, the ones that would concern their father so very much.

..

"Mine." Damian stated, "You are mine and I can not hurt you my own. I will rend the flesh of those who try."

Tim did not know what to say his mind blank as he chose silence instead. He will ask again later, a different way but the general format the exact same.

_Why haven't you tried to kill me._

..

Zatanna peeks into the room, Damian's head cocking in her direction. He knows she is there. He's known since she entered.

Tim is the only thing stopping him from acting out. She is aware of this in the way he watches, a monster on a leash.

She can feel the wrong that fills him, the way the darkness has sown its roots into Tim, twined around him like a parasite, greedy for warmth. She does not know what it was about the older boy that drew the dark, that pulled at its attention but she can guess.

He is the least threatening of all the bats. His slight form a stark contrast to the powerful figures of Bruce and Dick and Jason.

His refusal to let anything to happen to the younger boy. His softness.

Softness being a word she would not usually associate with the third Robin, but she can feel it, the way he curls the beast to his breast cradling him close. It feels a little bit like watching a woman carry around a dead jackrabbit, half eaten by maggots, claiming that, that same animal was her child.

It is harmless but so very wrong.

"He won't hurt Tim."

It is the only thing she can be sure of, the image of the rabbit burned into her head, the maggots climbing onto the fingers that stroked its fur. No, the beast would not hurt its caretaker. The whole situation was wrong despite that.

She did not want to know how this would end.

…

Tim listens to Bruce leave, his dead rabbit laying its head in his lap, eyes wide.

The older one can see a mad bear, angry and wild, following a small bird, a Robin, down a secluded path.

The bear will follow, blind to any faults of the bird and the bird has choices, many of them for the bear does not watch the ground it walks on, eyes trained on the Robin.

The bird could lead the beast to its death, but it won't because it is hurting, and it does not want its companion to hurt as well.

The bird instead looks for the best paths, the places with the greatest food to forage, and it hopes that they don't come across any jackrabbits or bats or old witches deep in the forest.

Tim can see the madness.

He has seen something like it in Joker, in Ivy, and even in Catwoman. This spark, this underlying predatory nature. He could see it in Bruce.

He' seen it in Ra's and long before Damian became what he was he had seen it in the younger boy as well. It had been leashed in a different way. It had been covered by self control, a thinly veiled layer of civil behavior over cruelty.

In some ways that is why he couldn't turn his back on the young one. The last Robin.

Those eyes were not anything different then before, they were simply unveiled.

He knew that Bruce and Dick saw someone too far gone, too removed from what they once knew, but they had seen Damian the spoiled, then petulant and mean spirited. They had known that Damian had issues, that he was troubled but Tim had seen his eyes.

He had seen the dark blue pools staring right at him as the brat tried to take his life away.

He knew better then them what Damian tried to control. He supposed that he had forgiven the occurrence.

Damian nudged his belly with his head, opening his mouth in a plea for food.

Grabbing the discarded bag of popcorn he begins to slip the kernels back into the smaller boys' mouth, paying attention when one calloused hand pushes his forearm up, closer to his own mouth.

He begins to eat as well, the salt and butter drying his lips.

…

Damian grasps Tim's hand as they walk through the streets.

The younger one is content. The wind is a soft breeze and the people on the streets could care less about the two boys walking down the avenue.

All but one, did not care to be correct. Dick Grayson spots them from the other side of the road and runs over, eyes wide.

Damian remains calm, but for a light tightening of his hand on Tim's.

The first Robin is shocked, his hand reaching for the younger boy only to pull back.

"Bruce didn't tell you." Tim states, because of course the Bat forgot to mention this little tidbit to his son.

Dick head shakes side to side. A confirmation.

Tim sighs, "Damian is only better around me. He's still wild. No, I do not know why, yes Bruce does know. No, I do not know what he thinks about it. No, we will not return to Wayne Manor at this point in time if ever."

That should cover all the bases. Tim hopes.

Dick nods dumbly before speaking, his throat raw, "But he's alive."

Damian sneers.

"Yeah. He's alive."

_…_

_Damian can taste the change before he sees it. The slow creep of illness into their household, roiling towards the like the coming tide. It is unstoppable in its essence but measures could always be taken. Their house would have to built farther from the sea._

As he is, every breath he takes is staggered, filled with far more than air and minor particles. The fear, the anger, the joy that seeped into the shedding of sweat, all were there for his perusal, his eyes categorizing every minute twitch so as to better understand his enemy. For everyone was an enemy, a threat to his person and that which was his. A fox in his den.

He has, under his skin, a beast, or rather, he is the beast, the monster under the bed. He is the black cloying thing strangling infinite white and he cares for that which is around him.

Only, his world is grey and drifting and he is the darkest of the darks, but Tim is keeper, the one who kept the shadows at bay, he was not grey but a tiny speck of blue.

This one small point of color, so different from anything else. In his eyes he sees the ruinous city, poisoning all it touched, chocking, it's sharp fingers arching for a part of something more and in that city, buried below the trash lay a single blue flower, and that bloom was Tim as he saw him in his lurid daydreams. Forget-me-nots weren't as pure as babies breaths but oh how very pretty they were growing from their patch of dirt.

All the pretty things came from the the ugly.

But his keeper couldn't see a thing, couldn't see his own skin with its blue veins and his petal soft self and the way he blew over with the wind and sank with the rain… but Damian could.

Lopping towards the kitchen he sets the kettle to boil.

The tide was coming in. A re-planting was necessary.

…

Crawling into their den he nuzzles the slender one with care, he doesn't want to turn that blue to ugly brown, clear liquid dripping from the pressure, the petals folding in on themselves, shriveling, falling apart.

Tearing with such ease. So he is careful.

"Wake up Timothy. I have made tea."

The words come out easily where once they had been mangled on the inside. For a while it had been so hard to articulate himself, his posture speaking for him. His eyes, the cant of his shoulders but he has learned the words again, his throat rumbling in the undertones regardless of human speech.

His animal tongue spoke so much more. So much better. But the keeper did not speak that tongue, no he spoke a different language, one of spring rising and winter sleep.

"Mnnng..Damian." Tim utters in his green tongue, rising with the sun his palms rubbing at cerulean eyes.

"Tea. Drink it." He orders placing the cup to parted lips, tipping it slightly to allow for easier consumption.

His hands stroke the shivering back as he further tips the container. The cough that comes is annoying but reasonable. Setting the tea down he holds Tim through the shaking.

The soft wheezing carried through Tim's voice as he spoke, "You don't cook."

Damian forced him down onto the abundant sheets and replied, "You don't get sick."

"I'm sick?" Tim asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

Damian nods against the collarbone he has burrowed himself beneath. his ear resting on the delicate beating heart thumping rhythmically under paper thin ribs.


	22. Wake Up

_Summary: "You're beautiful when you sleep but it's getting old. Please wake up." Damian/Tim_

Disclaimer: I own nothing

...

**Wake Up**

_"You're beautiful when you sleep but it's getting old. Please wake up."_

Damian runs his finger tips where the IV dips underneath pallid skin.

"They tell me that it would be kinder to let you go." He whispers, his voice soft. It doesn't matter. It's not like anyone can hear him.

"They tell me that the damage to your brain is too extensive, that it is wrong of me to keep the body and you have forbidden me from using the Lazarus long ago. I do not think you expected this to happen."

He hands adjust the sheet covering Timothy. "I did not expect it happen."

He strokes the hair that had been cut short, easier to shave just in case. Necessary for scans and monitoring old scars for bleeding. He's got pins and needles in his skull, all to hold him together.

"They tell me that you are nothing more than a doll now, a puppet, that if you woke, you would not be able to speak or understand a word, that you most likely lay there and gaze at the ceiling. They tell me you will never wake."

He looks at the face of his once hated, once beloved. Timothy.

"If you are a doll then you are the most beautiful one I have ever seen and I wonder if you would hate me now, for refusing to let you go."

He thinks of his Timothy, laughing, speaking, moving. He plays the images over again in his mind.

"If you are a doll then would you hate me for this?"

Turning down the covers he slips beside the body laying in the bed. Holding it he wishes that it would move. That Tim would move.

Nothing happens.

"Do you hate me now?"

He asks, even though he knows no answer will come. He has known for a long time.

"I'm going to shut everything off Timothy. Is that okay with you? I'm going to let you go today. This time for good, and I'll bury you deep enough that the worms won't reach you. Where you'll decay in peace. Where you'll be at peace."

Reaching his arm behind him he pulls the plug.

For a moment he expects the body in front of him to start shaking, to start screaming, to seize. It does none of those things. Instead it stops.

With his head pressed over Tim's heart he can hear it happen, the slowed pace, quickening for a moment, a lost hope before stopping completely.

It's over now.

It's finally over.

He wouldn't have been able to stop the tears it he tried. The great heaving sobs as he clings to all that was left.

"I wish you had died habibi. I wish you had died, and I am sorry. I am so sorry for this."

He wishes it had been a sharp end, the clean cut of a knife, the decay of an illness, instead of the drawn out in between. Alive and dead, all in the same breath.

"I wish you had died." He whispers. A broken man.

He hated himself for it and everything it meant.


	23. Incarnations

_**S**__ummary: Tim and Damian in various incarnation. One of the drabbles contains porn. This has been your warning. _

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Star Wars**: I originally wanted to call Damian, Darth Damius

…

"Prince Timothy." Damian whispered, turning the porcelain face with his thumb.

"Damian Way En, former Jedi Knight."

Stroking his cheek the taller man spoke," You haven't called me that in years beloved and I haven't been a Jedi for a very long time."

"Of course not Darth Ter."

"Join me Timothy, " the Sith Lord spoke, his voice a deep growl.

The prince's eyes fluttered closed, "Kill me where I stand Damian, I would rather die than become a traitor to my empire."

Wrapping his cloak around the smaller man Damian cooed, "Never again your highness, never again."

…

Damian enters the room, wookie plushie in hand.

"What is this?" He asks.

Tim laughs his little sigh laugh, "It's a wookie."

Damian looks back at the furry thing, "Pardon?"

The third Robin takes the toy from Damian's hands and holds it up. "Wookie." He repeats.

The younger boy puts the toy back down and walks away. He will return when Timothy stops speaking in tongues.

**Wizards**

"Hello Damian."

Timothy is staring out the window, the small Ravenclaw enraptured by the clouds.

Damian pauses behind him, hands twitching with the need to rest themselves on his companion's shoulders. "How did you know it was me." He asks.

" Wracksuprts follow you everywhere." Tim replies.

Anyone else would dismiss the claim as absolute lunacy but the taller boys knows it as something more, knows it the way he knows that Tim can navigate his way out of anywhere with no map nor prior knowledge due to breadcrumbs left by imaginary figures only he can see.

The other Slytherins laugh at what they call the defective Raveclaw. Those who spoke had been silenced.

Could they not see a seer when one was in their midst?

**Rough**

"Can you take it." Damian growls, grabbing slender hips, grinding into the crease of Tim's backside, "Can you take all of me, everything?'

The tip of his cock stops slightly as it rubs against the rosy pucker he adored so very much. The place his boy would enter Tim's, the place he would spill his seed, slicking up the insides of the smaller figure.

Tim mewled.

Once the larger man had been afraid of forcing himself on the predecessor he had outgrown by so very much. Now he wanted nothing more, his mind a haze of lust, need, want and so much more.

"I'm going to fuck you Timothy, tear you apart until your throat goes raw, until you have spent all the seed you hold and when you can take no more, I will give you everything. I will take my pleasure from you again."

**Disney Witches**

"Greetings young one." The smoke breathes, forming the shape of a woman.

"Hello Maleficent."

Black witch of the old Mal smiles, black tipped nails running through Tim's hair. "The only dark mage who never uses his gift. Darling boy do you have any idea the power you have?"

Tim rests his head on her belly.

"Of course I know, its part of me. I just don't want it."

Mal snorts, " Your grandmother, her father, his mother and those before all had the gift. They left you a legacy. One day you will use it."

Tim knows his family's history, one he kept far away from the bats as possible, tucking all traces of where he came from into hidden corners.

"I'm never going to use it." He whispers.

The old witch laughed, "One day child. One day you will wake up and the world will be as new, and you will be tired of your skin and from the shedding of the old you, my dear, you will also be as new. One day you will use your gift the way it was meant to be used."

"Not today." Tim replied.

Damian watched from the crack in the closet door, eyes wide, body shaking.

**Ancient**

"What do you know of the price for such things mud creature."

The ancient breathes, his body languid, his eyes a sharp electric blue. He knows him only as Timothy. He knows him only as someone he was forbidden to contact when he was under the house of Al Ghul.

Damian gathers his strength, "I know that you demand a price for your services. I know that you can bring back the dead. I know that you can return my father from the place he is."

Tim waves his arm dismissively, "Your father isn't dead child, simply lost."

Robin's eyes widen a small fraction. "Can you bring him back?" He asks.

The older one's grin is that of a shark, a solitary hunter approaching his prey, "What will you give me if I do. As you said, a price must be offered and taken."

Damian closes his eyes, "Anything." He whispers.

Tim nods in approval. "One day, " he begins, "When you have passed the summers of your youth, when you are old and frail and bitter you will come to me, and I will take my end of the bargain. Do you agree?"

Damian has been taught better than this, still he says, "Yes."

…


	24. Mouse

_Summary: Sometimes Tim need to be someone else. Damian interrupts._

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

..

**Mouse**

In Tim's defense, he never wanted this to happen. He didn't ask for it, and he sure as hell didn't go looking for it.

He just, he just wanted to be left alone for a while without any pressure. To be someone else, for a few hours. To look at his life objectively.

He never wanted to meet Damian while he was doing so.

He is dressed in his private school uniform, his institution's crest embroidered on his sweater vest, his oxford crisp beneath it, rolled up to his elbows.

Most importantly, his skirt falls above his knees. His brown hair is shoved in a messy bun, curls falling riotously around his face because Mouse , upper class upbringing or not, didn't care about her hair or her looks.

Her grey eyes were striking and her nails short but well groomed, necessary for long hours spent on the computer.

Mouse was a hacker. One of the best in the whole damn world and she knew it. She just, never really wanted to do more with it than break into really difficult systems and laze around in her pajamas eating pop tarts.

She was Tim, if Tim hadn't become Robin. If he chose a civilian life.

That did not, by any means make her an easy target because he knew better then anyone else how like her mother Jane Elizabeth "Mouse" could be.

She just didn't care to get involved. Yet.

She was also the one he became when he needed to rest and reflect on his life.

He never wanted her to meet Damian.

Not when it shouldn't have happened. Ever.

Not when she was tucked away in the corner of a coffee shop far from the places anyone in her family frequented, tapping away on her lap top with brutal efficacy.

One more line of code and she would have a virus that could potentially black out all computer systems in the continental US. Flagging down a waiter she ordered more soda, and enough cake to pig out on.

If not for Tim's acting skills he would have frozen stiff as he watched Damian enter the shop, motoring to sit near Mouse's corner.

Fuck.

The brat pulled out his own laptop cursing in Arabic.

Huh. Little bastard wanted to get the upper hand on his grandfather. If she were feeling so inclined she would help him. She knew that system like the back of her hand, only, she wasn't that nice and he tried to kill her so, yeah. Brat could suffer. Devouring her cake, she returns to her work.

Muting her earphones she calmly spies on the youngest of the Robins.

Who was failing so hard it was funny. Seriously funny.

She translates the cursing and gets lost at the point where he claims Ra's had been sodomized by a goat, or needed to be, her tenses weren't the best when it came to Farsi.

Ignoring the chatter she leaves him be.

…

The little brat invaded his space yet again.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who found the shop fantastic. Fuck. He really liked the place. The waiters knew his orders and his spot. They always saved the corner seat for him, and made sure extra cake would be made on Mondays' when he came in.

They knew that he spent a good amount of money and that they were to leave him, well, her, be.

Shit. Screw it. He wasn't leaving. It's not like Damian was ever going to talk to him.

…

"I have noticed that you seem to be somewhat efficient in code. Would you look over this for me."

No. Fucking. Way. Son of a bitch.

He knows. He knows without a doubt that Damian coming to her coffee shop was no accident. The brat figured out that she was Mouse. Or rather, Jane Elizabeth Darrow, was Mouse.

Robin had tracked him down for help. He kind of wants to slap him in the face, which is much easier to get away with in a skirt, while other things are harder.

Mouse has always been her mothers daughter, so the lazy way she answers, "No." Is no surprise.

"I have asked nicely Ms. Mouse, and I will not ask so kindly again. Will you help me?"

Hmm. Good scowl, appropriately threating posture. Tim would give it a two if he was being generous.

Arching an eyebrow he refuses to reply.

Damian glowers, "I do not think that you understand the magnitude of what will happen if you do not cease ignoring me."

Really now? We'll see about that. Tim purrs like a cat on the inside.

Something clatters. The brat knocked over his cake. That meant war.

Removing one earbud he looks right at him, his eyes half lidded and languid, "Little boy." He's not little anymore but Tim feels that emasculation is always a good staring point for any conversation, "My name is not Mouse and as of now you owe me a slice of cake."

If he had fur it would have been sticking up as he replies, "You are Mouse. One of the best in your line of work."

Humming Tim looks back at his computer, "Prove it."

He knows that Damian has no solid evidence. At least, nothing that Tim hasn't erased long ago.

Huffing Robin placed his hands on her table, "Fine."

…

The next time they meet, Damian scowls at her.

Heh. He hadn't found a shred of evidence. In the immortal words of rapper Lil Wayne who Superboy decided to pay on repeat one long summer ago, be good, or be good at it.

And Tim, was good at it.

..

"What will it take for you to assist me?"

Mouse strikes a contemplating pose, "My cake, also, you'd need to be less…you."

Damian nods and brings her cake. Triple chocolate. Her favorite.

…

This is a horrible idea, but the little shit needed to know who was king of the castle and Tim owned this world. Slipping into one of Ra's networks was easy enough, giving the information to Damian was a little harder but he accepted it gracefully.

As gracefully as he could, "Tt. Your assistance has been most satisfactory."

She kneed him in the groin for that. It was a good moment, like running a marathon.

Maybe now he would leave her alone.

…

He did not leave her alone.

He kept coming to her territory, inching closer day by day, and neither Tim nor Mouse knew quite what to do.

"Why do you not do something more. You could be great." He asks with a steady gaze.

She curls her hand around her teacup and laughs, loud and free, the way she never did as Tim, "I already am." She replies.

He doesn't understand and that's okay. Maybe he never would.

…

Damian is serious as always, but today more so than on any other day, "Will you accompany me out." He requests.

"No." She denies.

"Why?"

"You have no idea who I am."

It's the truth. As far are the youngest bird knew he was sitting beside a female civilian. A very gifted one.

Which was a lie.

…

"Will I ever know who you are?"

Mouse sighs leaning back in her seat. She wishes her shoes weren't quite as comfortable today. Sometimes the pain helped clear her mind.

"If you ever did, I don't you'd like coming here anymore little boy."

Her smile is warm. It's been nice to know his successor as something other than a demon. As someone more human.

"Perhaps -"

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish."

Playing with a loose strand of hair she replies, "I didn't need to."

…

He needs to end this.

Tim sighs as he stays in the corner Mouse usually occupied. A book on his lap instead of a computer. The waiter frowns but doesn't shoo him away. The usual patron came at the ten o'clock on the dot or not at all. It was eleven.

Damian came a twelve.

Flipping a page Tim considered other options. He had loved Mouse. Loosing her would hurt. Hurting Robin wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world either.

…

"Drake. What are you doing here?" He is righteous in his fury.

Tim sighed yet again, turning the same page he turned an hour ago, "You really are stupid aren't you little boy."

He watches dark blue eyes widen from the corner of his eye.

"Y-you."

"You should have left it alone Damian, I told you, you wouldn't like this."

Tim feels regret. Mouse doesn't.

They watch him leave, betrayal in the lines of his back, the sharp steps he takes.

…

A new cafe, and a new routine had been set. Tuesdays seemed better anyway.

Tucking her hair back Mouse pulls out her laptop.

It had been a harrowing week and they needed this, this simplicity in comparison to the usual given duties.

She doesn't expect Damian to walk through the door.

…

"Why do you do this?" He asks and Tim gathers his thoughts stabbing at his pastry.

"Sometimes it's easier to be someone else."

"I do not understand."'

"That's a good thing."


	25. Family

_Summary: Bruce and Dick figure out a few things about Damian and Tim. They adjust their behavior accordingly._

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Note: For honey and her awesome prompt.

**Family**

Damian moaned in pain as his body shook. He had been genetically engineered for perfection yet he still contracted the flu as any child would.

He just, he just wanted his mother. Only, not her, he wanted someone caring and sweet, he wanted Tim when the elder went undercover as his parent. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

..

Alfred ran a damp washcloth over Damian's forehead, frowning when the child called out for his mother, a soft aching cry.

"Do you wish me to contact Talia, young master?" He asks, even though he knows the ordeal that would entail and that the boy was not entirely there at the moment.

It was to his surprised that Damian vehemently refused the idea, "No, No, I dun wan, wan Tim, I want mama."

Oh dear. Nodding Alfred left the room, "I shall collect your mother for you."

…

Alfred had not been forced to hunt Tim down as he believed he would, the third Robin had rushed home as soon as he heard of Damian's illness.

Huffing, the slender figure greeted the butler before making for the youngest Robin's room.

"Master Timothy," Alfred called out, "Master Damian has been calling out for his mother."

Tim's face is a mask of confusion.

"He has been calling out for you." The old man finishes, noting the brief flush of joy as Tim continues on his previous path.

…

"I'm here, I'm right here sweetness, mama's here, and you'll be better soon." Tim cooed as he slipped into the sick bed, clutching the smaller figure to his his chest, "I'm right here." he repeats as Damian sobs in relief.

"Mama, mama, I'm tired." The youngest bird pleads.

Tim knows that Damian is fever sick and sore, so he presses kisses to his small face and sings low and sweet.

He sings until his throat goes raw and he washes Damian's face with cool water. He spoon feeds him soup laced with medicine.

He tells him stories about days long passed and magical worlds where a little boy named Damian captured gravediggers dirt in a jar and rescued a village from certain doom. He makes the tale complicated and intricate. He gives it subplots and he weaves it will care, no character carelessly glossed over or forgotten.

He makes it special because his-

His Damian was sick, and he needed it to be special.

All the while, neither of them see the shadow of the bat as he watches his youngest cling to the slender one claiming him as his mama.

He does not see Dick's soft smile, nor Bruce's considering gaze.

…

Gazing softly at Damian, Tim carries the smaller boy downstairs. His fever had broken in the night and they had decided that a very late breakfast would be in order.

"Thank you." Damian murmurs, hands clutched around a slender neck.

"Sweetheart. There is nothing to be thankful for." Tim replies, the look on his face so open, so loving it makes the youngest Robin hurt, burying his face deeper into one bony shoulder.

…

Bruce reads his paper as he listens to the quiet pattering of feet. The two who enter the breakfast nook for a very late morning meal do so as a pair, one carrying the other.

Rising he walks towards them. Thumbing Tim's cheek with his large thumb he smiles, "Good morning darling."

The kiss he presses on that same cheek freezes Tim in a way the words had not. Bruce's own father had spoken those words to his wife every year they had been together.

Dick crept up from behind and kissed the sharp collarbone exposed by the loose shirt. It was part of one of his old training outfits, threadbare but soft. His arms moved to encircle both the third Robin and the fifth as Bruce did same from the other side.

"How's our little man doing today." Dick asks, and Tim assumes he's referring to Damian, "He's umm, he's fine. A little tired, but in another day he should be perfect."

"What are you imbeciles doing?" Damian cuts in, in a way Tim won't.

Bruce frowns, " It's rude to insult people, especially in front of your mother."

Damian goes still. They had heard. He wonders if this is some elaborate prank, some way of mocking him. His jaw tightens and he clings tighter to Tim who responds for him, "If this is some sort of-"

"No, not at all love." Dick interrupts.

Bruce continues, "You look tired dear, I can carry Damian while you both eat." His look is stern and if Tim is wrong about this he will punch Bruce in the face, "I can carry my own child perfectly well."

Dick smiles, "We know that, we just thought that since you've got the two of us, you won't have to, at least not when you're running on no sleep, come on beautiful, he's not going to drop our son."

Damian's eyes have gone wide as he considers the exchange happening around him. He allows his father to carry him to his seat and watches as papa picks mama up in much the same way and deposits him on his own chair. Directly beside Damian's.

Bruce sits beside him and Dick beside Tim, sandwiching the smallest members of the family between the two largest for protection.

He feels warm.

Picking up his sandwich he speaks, "Can you tell me stories again today mother? They were wonderful last night."

Tim laughed and smoothed his son's hair with nimble fingers, "You had a high fever. I'm sure my rambling won't sound as good today."

The males in the family frowned, but Damian was the one who replied, "They were perfect and I want more of them." He is sure, and he is insistent in his demand.

"You speak beautifully dearest and while our son was compromised I was not. Your stories were indeed, perfect." Bruce adds.

Dick simple nuzzles Tim's hair in agreement.

..

"Mother." Damian called out, "Mother where are you?"

Tim sits at his desk going over the reports in detail as his son crawls into his lap, "Papa and father were being stupid, they kept making paper boats from garbage in the sewers. I had to wade through excrement and Papa claimed that children liked mucking about in such filth."

Tim hummed as he held the smaller one close, "Your fathers can be difficult, but I'm sure they meant the best, and not every child wants to run around in sewage. I for one never did."

Damian huffs, "Speak to them?" He asks.

Tim smiles, "I'll translate for you when they get here."

"Honey." Dick called out, "Are you in here?"

Tim raised an eyebrow, "Yes, he's here." Bruce answered as he too moved into the room, "Our son seems to have found our dear wife first though."

Damian sniffed, "You two are slow."

"We'll see." Dick replied as he lunged to tickle his son's sides. Bruce leaned forward to peck Tim's lips, moving behind the frailest bird, his hands careful as they massaged tense shoulders.

_…_

**Family: Jason**

Jason smirked as he sidled up to Tim, "Hey baby bird."

Tim dodged a vicious punch, "Busy, Jason."

The vigilante raised his hands in surrender and swiftly took out one of the henchmen coming from behind, "Relax Red, I'm only here to help."

Tim growled as one of the thugs landed a kick on his side. Sloppy. He does not expect Damian's worried cry of, "Mother."

Knocking the man out, the last of the hired idiots he ignores Jason's confusion and rushes to the youngest Robin's side, assuring him that everything was okay, and that he didn't need to worry so.

Okay. What?

"Umm…" Jason sounds, trying to form a question, he settles with, "Did you get hit on the head or something."

"Shut your mouth Todd, before I shut it for you," Damian growls.

Tim removes his glove, pinching off one finger at a time before sliding the entire thing clean off. It's so carelessly elegant, and out of place on a man in a deadly costume that Jason has to bite back a laugh. Carding his fingers through his son's hair Tim wordlessly coos, fussing over the small scrapes that came along with the cape and cowl.

"Are you two okay." Dick calls out, landing in front of them, a quick peck to Tim's lips.

Jason wasn't entirely surprised, he kind of figured that baby bird had a long time crush on big bird, the "Papa," That slipped from Damian's mouth was something else entirely.

"Can anyone tell me what's going one here?" Jason asks.

….

Dick smiles as he finishes explaining.

Jason blinks, "Let me get this straight. You're all pretending to be a happy family. Tim is the momma bird and you and Bruce are the daddy birds and Damian is your demon spawn, and you're doing this to give him a healthy and happy upbringing?"

Nodding the first Robin behaves as though this was something perfectly normal.

"What's wrong with you?" The vigilante continues, "Also Tim is a guy."

Dick laughs as though Jason has just said something terribly funny, "They went on a mission together undercover, mother and son. Damian, well, he really liked it."

Jason sighs, "I give up. You've all finally gone off the god damned deep end."

…

Damian scowls slipping his hand into Tim's. Well Tim who was playing his mother, the fake tan doing wonders for the disguise.

It had surprised him that the elder Robin was fluent in Hebrew, the outfit more so. Silky black hair was left loose as dark green eyes stood out from a proud face. The loose kaftan still allowed a hint of sensual curve to show through, but for the most part his..mother.. was lithe, finely boned and graceful, her hand steady in his as they walked through the bazaar.

They had been looking for a weapons manufacturer.

"Come love, we need to rest soon. I know you are tired." Tim speaks, his lilting tone comfortable.

Damian's side aches from where it has been taped down. He allows his mother to lead him to a restaurant, allows him to wipe the cold sweat from his brow with a napkin soaked with bottled water.

Closing his eyes he falls asleep.

He wakes in their hotel room curled around his predecessor his bandages replaced, he is free of sweat and dirt and he is comfortable taking in the feel of the cool slippery silk his mother wore with ease.

…

Dick carried their better half up to his room, Bruce carryies their son.

Everything is good.

…

Jason leers as he makes a grab for Tim's posterior, Bruce's hand is a vice on his wrist, "Watch what you try and touch Jason, I taught you better than that."

The second Robin is unrepentant. It was just too much fun to rile up Dickie bird and the big boss himself.

"Must you lay your perverse attention on my mother. Find a whore Todd."Damian interjected.

Jason grinned, "Well," He began, "I figured since I already slept with Talia I may as well sleep with your actual mom, you know? So that I can make it a patter-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence as the demon child lunges for his neck.

…

Jason knows they don't see it. Not yet, but he can tell in the way they meld at the edges, the way that both of the larger males were a much too proprietary with Damian's "mother" that something more was going to happen.

The only reason he got away with teasing was because he was Uncle Jay, he was family and they all knew that nothing was going to actually happen between him and Tim. It like flirting against a brick wall, so it wasn't going to be him, but soon, something would make them fear loosing Tim, and when it did, damn that bomb was gonna blow.

He doubted he'd see baby bird for a week, probably more.

…

Ra's frowned, "Timothy, if you wanted a child, I could have made you one from out respective genes."

Damian's face goes blank as Dick picks Tim up and runs, the youngest Robin in his other arm. This had been the discussed method for dealing with Ra's al Ghul. At least, it was the discussed method between Bruce and Dick

"Ra's." Bruce growled, "You will leave Timothy alone."

The ancient raised an eyebrow, "Will I now Bruce?"

..

Tim cried out as he was assaulted at all sides, trapped between two men far larger than him. Sweat slick he moaned, a soft hiccuping sound that became louder as Dick bit down on his shoulder, hard.

His voice was sweet as he crooned, "Who do you belong to sweetheart hmmm, Timmy?"' The words are punctuating by strong hands plucking at the hardened nubs of his nipples, the delicate flesh reddened from the ministration.

A slightly larger hands palmed at his erection, "You, I belong to you, and Bru-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off by a soft mewl as Bruce slipped another finger alongside the two Dick had buried in his entrance, prodding repeatedly against his prostate.

The soft kisses that peppered his face did nothing to stop the hard feel of Dick's member slick against his back or the sight of Bruce's turgid erection jutting proudly from a nest of black curls.

Blushing he tries to turn his head only to have his mouth claimed by the largest of the three, a wet tongue claiming his lips as he legs were moved to settle over strong shoulders.

Kissing the previously bitten spot Dick hummed but Bruce was the one who spoke, "Are you read darling?"

Nodding Tim grasps Dick's hand in his.

..

Morning comes leaving Tim spent on the bed, cum trailing down his hips, still soaked on the inside. Two fingers remained inside him, filling his entrance, both of them belonging to Dick, who couldn't leave his sweet bird empty for the night.

Bruce smiled into Tim's shoulder blades, moving the slighter figure to rest on top of the first Robin who spread the perfect globes of Tim's backside for Bruce's perusal.

The small one whimpered as they soothed him, the bat leaning forward to swipe his tongue against the used pucker.

Murmuring he spoke, "We just need to clean you up. Nothing else."

Tim sighs, boneless against the acrobat, Bruce's mouth hot against his backside.

The fingers that run through his hair curl the strands at the end.

…

Bruce carries Tim down to breakfast, Damian scowling in his seat, his eyes widening as he catches sight of his weakened parent, bruised at the neck, "What have you done to mother?" He accuses, standing, only to have Dick lay a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down.

Bruce placed the slighter figure onto the first Robin's lap.

"Damian," he began, "Your mother is, well, you are our son, and your mother is our wife. Do you understand what I mean?"

Damian looks back at the bruising, he can distinctly make out the impression of a set of teeth. Reaching over to touch the mark he glowers, Tim's eyes fluttering open. He had been awake, simply tired.

"Ignore your fathers baby. I'm okay, and I'm not hurt."

Huffing Damian moves to hug the third Robin, "I don't approve of such things. They have damaged you. It is wrong."

Tim sighed, "Bruce can you show him your back please?"

Nodding the larger man removed his shirt to show scratch marks, some of them bandaged.

"You have taken recompose?" Damian asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Tim answers, "I have taken recompose."

"Very well, do not be hurt again. It is most unsettling." The younger boy demanded, his arms wrapped around his mother.


End file.
